


His True Colors

by Nonymos



Category: The Avengers (2012), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Abuse, All bets are off as to how this will end, Ambiguous Feelings, Angst, Author basks in own evilness, Bannertech, Bruce Angst, Bruce Banner Needs a Hug, Bruce Feels, Clint Feels, Explicit Sexual Content, FEELS YOU HEAR, Feels, Fury and Loki compete for the title of Most Manipulative Bastard, Graphic Torture, Gray Morality, Guilt, Heartache, Hulkeye - Freeform, Human Experimentation, Hurt/Comfort, Lima Syndrome dynamics, Loki Feels, Loki Is Evil, M/M, Or Are They ?, Or Is He ?, Rejection, Self-Loathing, Stockholm Syndrome dynamics, The Avengers Are Dicks, Thor and Loki have LOTS of issues together, Trigger warning for possible suicidal interpretation, Whump, desperate!Bruce, evil!Bruce, gammafrost - Freeform, perhaps a bit too realistic this time, realistic Bruce/Loki, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-08
Updated: 2013-09-05
Packaged: 2017-12-10 19:31:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 33
Words: 103,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/789339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nonymos/pseuds/Nonymos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The battle of New York was a turning point for the entire planet – but especially so for Bruce Banner. This is a unique chance for him to find the Hulk a place in this world. It is a staggering hope, but unrealistic as it sounds, it might just come true.</p><p>And then his hesitant plan turns out to be too successful. Everyone including the Avengers apparently expect the Hulk to take his turn in the spotlight. But the more Hulk thrives, the more Bruce withers, and nobody seems to notice or care. When Loki extends a hand to him, he is fully aware it is a trick – but he has got nothing else to hold onto.</p><p>	The Avengers realize just a bit too late how royally they screwed up. The sharp-sighted, ever-watching Hawkeye cannot blame himself enough for not having seen this disaster coming. Can they still be saved from Banner ?</p><p>Do they even deserve it ?</p><p>	(The story is set right after the 2012 Avengers movie with slight EMH dynamics thrown in the middle.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Acceptance

**Author's Note:**

> The wonderful [laurie_ky](http://archiveofourown.org/users/laurie_ky/pseuds/laurie_ky) gave me hours of her time to create the [fanmix](http://archiveofourown.org/chapters/1813043) I never thought I could dream of. It's wonderful, it's forty songs that are basically this work's soundtrack, it's advised to listen to it after reading the fic. ;) 
> 
> All hail Laurie, readers. Let her be thanked a thousand times, and her descendants after her for seven and a half generations.

 

 

 

 

 

 

To the rest of the world, it all ended with superheroes eating together in a dignified silence, with the weariness of battle clinging to them like a musky perfume. They were sitting around the table in a brightly-colored tableau, blood-red and dark purple, glittering gold and shining silver, crimson and royal blue, dazzling colors intertwined on deep black and immaculate white, like an epic heraldry.

To Bruce Banner, it all started with this half-hearted team eating shwarma in complete exhaustion, and an intense feeling of unreality clinging to _him_ as he sat next to those who were now Earth's Mightiest Heroes with his stubble and his dull, rumpled clothes.

He had still trouble processing what had happened in the course of only one day. He had come back – although he still did not know whether he had made the right call. In the end, it was the Hulk who had saved the day, though. Bruce Banner had only managed to locate a demi-god hiding in plain sight, to a rather counter-productive extent since their enemy _wanted_ to be caught anyway ; afterwards, he had almost wrecked the Helicarrier and very nearly killed Natasha Romanov, endangering Tony, Thor and Steve's life in the process. He had only got back on track in time for the last battle, when he had finally _let_ the Hulk take the reins, for everyone's own good. Heck, the Other Guy had even saved Tony Stark's life.

This unexpected turn of events had called a lot into question, to the point that Bruce had chosen to stay instead of setting off as soon as the battle was over. He had taken a great risk ; he could have been thrown in a lab cage ; instead he was offered _shwarma._ Unlikely as it may sound, these people seemed ready to admit that the Hulk wasn't all bad. They might actually have walked this path further than _him_ already ; Tony Stark, for one, had trusted the Other Guy from the beginning. Bruce hadn't allowed himself to hope on this scale for a long time, and he couldn't shake off the impression that must be deluding himself somehow ; but if there really was a place for his alter ego among the Avengers... His heart was pounding with the mere thought of it.

 _A superhero._ He smiled wryly at his food. This was completely ludicrous, but hell, why not. His whole life had turned into a festival of absurdity ever since the accident. He was ready to add another layer of nonsense if it could allow him to seize a chance he hadn't dared hope for.

 

He looked up shyly. The others were all eating in silence, not paying much attention to him, which was both freeing and intimidating. He knew it was supposed to feel like there was no need for words with the instant intimacy they had found after the battle ; but God – how he wanted to _talk_ to them. It was almost painful. They were almost complete strangers, but they were the only people with whom he had a chance to build something that wouldn't fall apart in a month or so. It was almost terrifying, that he could have such expectancies. He would have almost preferred a clear _no_ to this wavering _maybe_ ; but even Natasha wasn't eyeing him warily anymore, now that they had fought side by side with the Hulk. So he found himself stuck with his frightening hopes.

And he wanted to speak up, to express his feelings, his gratitude, his regrets, to simply _talk_ to them – he hadn't had a casual conversation in ages. But shyness was rooting him to the spot. He wouldn't dare breaking the silence and focusing the attention on him ; as though he was scared they hadn't actually noticed he was there, and would throw him out the second they did. He perfectly knew this particular fear to be completely irrational – unlike the very real threat of SHIELD's final decision about him – but it still effectively kept him from speaking. He wouldn't have known what to say anyway.

So he just kept eating, both hope and apprehension boiling inside him in a feverish mix, He was shrinking down a little on himself out of habit, even though there was no way he would ever blend in such a crowd. There were all so... _colored._

For a second, he wished again he were wearing something else than his worn, dusty clothes ; then he pictured himself in a flashy leotard and smirked slightly in the corner of his mouth. Even though he was sitting at their table, he wasn't sharing their exhaustion, their memories, and he couldn't help feeling guilty about it. Not to mention _they_ weren't worrying about what would come next. Everything was clear and certain in _their_ minds. Tony Stark had been a superhero for years already – to say nothing of Steve Rogers. Thor was an alien god of royal blood. Natasha Romanov was the Black Widow and it pretty much spoke for itself...

 _Wait._ Bruce's eyes flickered up at Clint Barton, who was chewing mechanically with his leg on Natasha's seat. The archer couldn't possibly entertain the feeling that everything was _clear and certain._ The doctor hadn't even properly met him, but he knew why he hadn't been there – what he had done under Loki's command. A bit baffled, he realized that Barton and him _shared_ the responsibility for the devastation on the Helicarrier – and that they both could be told that it wasn't really their fault. What a weird thing to have in common.

He briefly glanced at him again. Barton's shoulders were hunched forward, his arms were still taut, and Bruce knew it wasn't only from exhaustion or pain. He felt a surge of empathy. Knowing that there was someone else in the room who dreaded the near future and regretted the past was strangely heart-clenching. Once again, he felt an urge to speak up, to express simple sympathy ; and once again he didn't dare.

 

When they finally threw away their greasy papers and pushed back their chairs, the silence spell appeared to be lifted and Bruce decided to seize this occasion before he could actually discover which sort of committee was waiting for him outside. He coughed rather awkwardly to attract Barton's attention while the others left the place.

“So – with all this, I don't think we've been properly introduced,” he said, holding out his hand and smiling gingerly at him. “I'm Bruce.”

“Clint Barton” the archer said, shaking his hand briefly. “So you're the green one, uh ?”

“They don't call you Hawkeye for nothing,” Bruce said.

It was a rather pitiful attempt at wit, but he couldn't do much better right now. At the sound of his codename, though, Barton pressed his lips in a tight line, turning away to grab the door Steve was holding open for him.

“They probably won't be calling me that much longer” he mumbled, stepping outside.

Bruce followed him, squinting at the daylight even though the sky was obscured with thick, gray clouds. It took him five feverish seconds to realize that the expected SHIELD team was remarkable by its absence. When he finally understood that he wasn't going in a cage – at least, not for the time being – he went almost limp with relief. But then he caught sight of two SHIELD agents in dark suits leaning on a Quinjet, obviously staring at Barton through their sunglasses.

The archer didn't cringe, as though he had been expecting this, but his shoulders seemed to slump a little. Bruce was thunderstruck. But it kind of made sense ; Barton might still be compromised, whereas the Hulk's intents were usually pretty clear. A wave of sadness and empathy washed through Bruce again, surprising him with its intensity. He knew only too much how it felt, to mistrust the very people you had been trying to protect, to see fear and even hatred in their eyes.

“I wouldn't worry,” he said hesitantly. “Director Fury won't let you down.”

Clint kept staring ahead and smiled a contorted, joyless smirk.

“Yeah, I heard you and Fury hooked up,” he said brutally. “Good for you.”

Bruce was taken aback at the aggressiveness in his tone. He wasn't expecting the archer to be so resentful towards _him._ Then again, Fury had sent agents to arrest the marksman and not the berserker. Barton would think it wasn't fair – and he would be right.

“I mean it, Clint,” Bruce said, trying to convey his sympathy.“He let you right back on the field for the battle, after all.”

But even as he spoke, he remembered Fury's words to Loki. _You have made me very desperate._ Fury had let Barton go and fight, only because he needed every man he had and things couldn't have possibly gone worse anyway.

Clint was aware of this, of course, and Bruce realized his apparently offhand comment must have sounded horribly patronizing and insincere. He shouldn't have used his first name, either. He opened his mouth again even though he had no idea what he could possibly say – but the archer shook his head with a scoff of laughter. “Seriously, save it. I'm good.”

The bitterness in his tone was so thick Bruce could taste it. He flushed and shut up, knowing he could only make it worse now, desperately frustrated as his own inability to manage the most basic human interactions. Maybe he would try and explain himself later when Barton's situation had improved.

The agents were waiting, their impatience showing more and more as seconds ticked away. The archer squared his shoulders with a deep breath and began to march forward resolutely, but he slowed down when he realized Steve was catching up with him. He blinked at him with surprise but without any sort of resentment this time – as it seemed, nobody could express negative feelings at Captain America without the aid of a magical staff. Then Bruce saw the still guarded look on his face turn to grateful disbelief when he realized Steve was going with him.

“You don't have to do this, Cap,” Bruce heard him say with unmistakable relief in his voice, even though he tried to sound indifferent.

“I want you on my team, Hawkeye,” Steve answered in a definite tone. “Might as well make it clear from the start.”

Clint's tensed shoulders relaxed a little more as they walked away, and after another few steps, he even gave the Captain a brief but sincere smile. Bruce looked down with a self-depreciating smirk. He might try asking Steve for relationship advice if he really happened to stay.

A light rain began to fall, and he slightly shivered as he looked up at them again.

“Ah, team-bonding,” Tony grinned, appearing behind him. “Fanfiction fuel if I ever saw any.” He clapped his hands at the remaining members of the team. “Alright, kids, break's over. Everyone, follow the Star Spangled Man in the fancy chopper – let's go collect our prizes.”

 

*

 

Bruce never expected to actually get any sort of prize, but he was still offered an unexpected reward three days later, when he finally got around to talk to Nick Fury.

“Don't look so surprised, doctor. I do think letting the Hulk on the team is an excellent idea. I didn't expect it would come from you of all people.”

Bruce couldn't help blinking at him, because – it couldn't be this simple, could it ?

Fury looked unimpressed and even vaguely irritated with his disbelief. He obviously thought things could have gone faster. Bruce knew he should have seized his chance without thinking, but it almost seemed too good to be true.

Fury let out a small sigh, but conceded an explanation.

“He proved himself a valuable, controllable asset during the battle. And I will not hide the fact that to the eyes of the world, the Hulk is more than an integral part of this team,” he said. “With the Tesseract gone, he is indeed Earth's mightiest power. We need him as an Avenger, for our safety. As well as for our public image.”

The doctor stared at him.

“Public image ?” he repeated.

“Yes, I was discussing this with Tony Stark after the funeral,” Fury said, leaning back in his chair “We intend to keep our agents in the shadows, and it's better if nobody knows about you. But the Hulk in himself is too... let's say, _colorful_ , not to represent the Avengers alongside Thor and Steve Rogers – and Stark, of course, if he'll – ”

“Excuse me,” Bruce interrupted. “The funeral ?”

Fury looked at him for a second, then said briskly :

“Coulson's funeral.”

There was an uneasy silence. Bruce had heard about the agent's death, naturally. He hadn't met him for more than a few hours, but he had seemed like a good man.

“I... didn't know it had taken place already,” he murmured.

“We didn't spread the word,” the director admitted. “It was in a small committee.”

Bruce nodded. He didn't know what to say now.

“Anyway,” Fury said. “SHIELD is very grateful you decided to stick around, doctor. Of course, there will be adjustments to make ; we'll talk about the Hulk's involvement in the team with the others, after Loki's departure.”

“Sure,” Bruce said with a pang of relief, standing up to shake Fury's hand. “Thank – thank you.”

“No, thank _you,”_ Fury said.

He didn't look like he really meant it, but Bruce didn't notice it over the fact that his whole life was about to be completely turned upside down. He needed some time to process the news.

 

*

 

Bruce had been staring at the wall in slightly astonished haze for about an hour when a dreadful thought slowly crept into his mind. Suddenly chilled to the bone, he took his tablet and quickly dug through everyone's files once again.

Coulson was Natasha and Clint's handler. Coulson had met Thor when he first came on Earth. He had taken care of Tony during the palladium episode. And he had worshiped Steve for years as his true hero. All these people – they wouldn't have missed his funeral for the world.

Bruce was the only Avenger who _hadn't_ gone to honor Phil Coulson's memory.

His throat tightened. For a second, he wished Fury had told him sooner, but it was his own fault, of course – he should have known the funeral of a secret agent wouldn't be delayed for more than a few days. He had simply _forgotten_ about it. No wonder Clint Barton didn't seem much happier with him, even though he had been reinstated as a true member of the team almost immediately thanks to Steve's support.

Bruce's hands clenched against the paper, and he realized he had shifted instinctively to yoga breathing in response to the tension building up in his stomach. Guilt was settling in his stomach, tainting his shy thoughts of hope. He would have to apologize – but even that would have to wait, because they were sending Loki away this afternoon.

This at least, was something he wouldn't miss.

 

The bright sun of a new day did wonders for his gloomy thoughts, and he found himself filled again with a mix of apprehension and excitement. Tony drove him to the meeting point and got there late in purpose, of course ; thankfully, Thor hadn't arrived yet, but all the others were already here. Barton didn't look like he was interested in talking to anyone – except Natasha – but the doctor's tension decreased a little when he understood that Clint's sullen expression was sort of his default setting. The archer even gave him a small nod when their gazes met, to which Bruce responded with disproportionate gratitude. Barton being friendlier to him, even slightly, felt like a positive sign to confirm he had not dreamed Fury's support.

His stress went up again when he thought about the soon-to-be meeting. They did not know it yet, but the Avengers were now his teammates ; he had no idea how they would react to the news. He took a deep breath and tried to sigh out his tension. Now was not the time to get self-centered, because Thor had just showed up, glorious in his battle armor and holding his muzzled and shackled brother in a tight grip.

 

Even in restraints, Loki had lost nothing of his haughtiness and looked mostly annoyed with the whole thing, as though he would not even condescend to admit his defeat. _An ant has no quarrel with a boot._ No quarrel, no demise. Bruce briefly wondered what the demi-god was thinking about – had his defeat wounded him in some way, or was he already thinking three steps ahead ?

Well, he _was_ wounded. There was a slight cut on his nose and faint marks on his hands, but the doctor knew his entire body to be bruised and battered from the pounding he had taken in Stark Tower. The news had spread only yesterday, when Stark's AI had been reconnected only to provide them immediately with a piece of footage everyone found either hilarious or viciously cathartic. It had drawn a wry smile from Bruce ; there was some kind of dark irony in there – the Hulk had accidentally raved against the right person, and as a result he now got cheered on. If there was something heroic in there, the doctor really wasn't seeing it.

Still. This was what he wanted, he reminded himself as Thor manhandled Loki in the middle of their circle. If people came to consider the Hulk as a hero because he had tried to mash a living being into a pulp, he would have to make it work. The demi-god wouldn't accept his pity anyway, not that Bruce intended to waste it on him. He was only glad he had not killed him – he had enough red in his ledger for the rest of his life. So, maybe he was grateful to Loki in a weird way, for resisting the Other Guy's wrath. But as for the rest, he honestly thought that the demi-god deserved whatever awaited him up there in the stars.

Thor handed him the Tesseract and Loki grabbed the handle with resignation. Bruce's swarming thoughts cleared for the second time as a blue energy began to buzz around the two gods. An Einstein-Rosen bridge in the making – now that was something else, and he was only filled with pure, bright scientific curiosity, his anxieties temporarily chased away. He was expecting something exhilarating and wasn't disappointed ; they were simply propelled in the sky, almost too fast for him to see.

“Wow” Tony said to no one in particular. “Remind me to steal Thor's girlfriend's research when I have time.”

It drew a smile from Bruce, but since he was still staring at the sky Tony probably did not notice it was directed at him.

Thor had promised to come back as soon as possible, and they had sort of all made their goodbyes before his departure ; so now that he was gone, their group just split up rather casually, without another word. They all needed to sleep on this – more than once for some of them...

 _Clint –_ Bruce shook himself up and looked around, but the archer was already walking away, side by side with Natasha. The doctor didn't want to leave before he could apologize, but he couldn't find it in him to run after Barton only to stammer a few words under the amused gaze of Natasha and the inscrutable darkness of the archer's sunglasses.

 _Next time,_ he thought. _After the meeting._

“Hey, big guy,” Tony said, clasping a hand on his shoulder and letting it slip away almost instantly to fidget with his phone.

To him, it was nothing ; still, he was the only one to do this kind of thing. Bruce had come to long for these absent-minded touches – he had been denied the most basic human contacts for too long. He wished he could have made Tony understand that he wouldn't have minded him being even more tactile, but he knew there was no way this was coming out right. So he didn't say anything.

“Fury told me you'd be around for a bit longer ?” the billionaire asked.

“Um – yes,” Bruce said, his eyes falling on Clint again. He forced himself to look away. “We – we worked something out. But it's the team who'll get to decide in the end.”

Stark grinned at him. “Can't wait.”

 

*

 

“So the Hulk would be, what ? A part-time member ?”

Clint's question wasn't directed at Bruce. Actually, as soon as he had exposed his idea in a few short, nervous sentences, everyone had forgotten about him to focus on the green elephant in the room. He was astounded with how seriously and how calmly they were discussing this, as though it was no big deal.

“No, not part-time,” Steve was saying. “He will have to be more than that. It's unfair to let him out only for the fights. If he's going to be part of this team, he'll share the peaceful times as well.”

“You're like a patriotic motto generator,” Stark yawned with a slow clap. “Seriously, an inspiration to us all.”

Steve had probably got used to Tony, since he completely ignored his snarky comment.

“I know some of us might feel uncomfortable with the idea...”

“No,” Natasha said calmly. “I respect the Hulk. I actually need to have him around after what happened.”

Steve eyed her for a second, then nodded. Strange as it was to hear it, Bruce understood too – Natasha wasn't one to bear her own fears. She would expose herself to them until she had grown stronger, or died.

“Okay then,” the Captain said. “I think we all agree.”

His pointed stare jarred out Bruce of his slightly astonished haze.

_Wait – what ?_

“Now ?” he stammered, understanding at last. “In... the tower ?”

“Of course,” Steve said with an amused smile. “We're not going to assume the Hulk's going to wreak havoc whenever he comes out. He will _live_ with us.”

“Got his very own floor too,” Tony chimed in from the bottom of his chair.

Bruce felt like he was dreaming the whole thing. He had honestly expected at least one member of the team to stand up and yell _are you people crazy ?_ But they had all went along with the idea, apparently. And it had to be real, since Captain America was now standing in front of him with a confident look in his blue eyes.

“We're ready, doctor,” he said softly, reassuringly. “You can let him out.”

Bruce could only swallow thickly and nod. He internally begged his alter ego to make it happen, trying to pave the way with appeasing thoughts of friendship and team-bonding and acceptance. _This is our chance. This is it._

He began to unbutton his shirt, but they were all staring at him, and it was much more difficult than waking up naked with no other choice. Clint's grayish gaze was particularly piercing – and not particularly warm. Suddenly, Bruce was only too eager to let the Hulk out and curl up on a corner of his own mind.

He could only take off his glasses before he felt the familiar, painful swelling in his muscles and bones. He fell off his chair and on his knees, suddenly breathless with the constricting feeling of his organs twisting and shifting inside his body ; and as the colors faded around him, he heard Steve's voice, echoing above his head.

“Now let's welcome the last member of the team.”

 

Out of nowhere, Bruce felt a sting of panic ; but before he could understand where it even came from, everything had already turned a dark green, too dark for him to see – too dark for him to think.

 

*

 

“Dr. Banner.”

The words echoed painfully in his head. He turned on his side, trying to shy away from a blinding light.

“Dr. Banner, wake up.”

He opened his eyes and blinked rapidly to chase tears of pain. He was not strapped to the bed, which was something at least. Where was he ? How had he gotten here ? He felt slow and heavy. Drugs ? He had no memory of his last transformation. There was a man with him – he knew him, something to do with the American flag ?

“Can you hear me ?”

“Yeah,” he croaked. “Just – just a minute.”

“Take your time,” Steve said gently.

Steve. Yes. Steve Rogers, Captain America. Yes, it was all coming back to him in big chunks. Gray cutting eyes, the Hulk part of a team, Loki's army wreaking havoc. Check. Why had he remembered those eyes first. Clint Barton. Sure, but what's with him, feels like an unpleasant memory – God, too tired to think, but he remembers almost everything now.

“Okay,” he said, sitting up in his bed with a deep breath. “Okay.”

He felt strangely worn out, as though he had run three marathons in a row ; and the light was still drilling needles in his eyes.

“You with me ?” Steve said.

Bruce nodded.

“Was – ” he swallowed, throat dry. “Was I gone for long ?”

A surprised chuckle escaped Steve's lips. “Depends on what you mean by that. It's been five weeks.”

 

The doctor stared at him.

 

“Five weeks,” he heard himself repeat.

“Yep,” Steve said cheerfully, getting up to open the curtains. “Time flies.”

Bruce was absolutely speechless.

“Turns out Hulk makes a pretty good roommate, which might explain that” the super-soldier went on. “We didn't expect him to be so open – or so _talkative_. Jeez, he already found nicknames for half the team. ”

“Uh,” Bruce managed. “That's – good news, I guess. Really good news.”

He felt dizzy.

“Did you – did you all...”

“Oh, we get along alright,” Steve said conversationally, stepping back to let a wave of blinding white light overwhelm Bruce's abused eyes. “Don't worry about it. Even Natasha's in very good terms with him now. Tony's thrilled, of course. As for Clint, he's literally in love.”

Bruce's heart jumped in his chest. “What ?”

“Hulk calls him _Cupid,”_ Steve grinned, sitting back next to him. “I don't know where he got that, but Barton almost killed himself laughing. Now, it's like they're long-lost brothers or something.”

Bruce blinked, breathing uneven. This was going a bit too fast for him. He remembered now why Clint's memory had been so unpleasant, and he couldn't reconcile the thought of the archer's sullen expression and dry voice with Steve's stories of him laughing out loud and being called _Cupid._

“And did...” _–_ _I hurt anyone,_ he thought, but this question was outdated now. “Did you... need... Hulk... for something ?”

Steve stared at him, then his gaze cleared. “Oh – actually, he's the backbone of the team now, you know. We kind of always need him. But yeah, he was a great help when Doom attacked three weeks ago.”

Bruce opened his mouth, the questions burning on the tip of his tongue – _what_ and _who_ and _how_ and _did anyone get hurt, was there any damage, what did the Hulk do exactly –_ but he gave up before he could even form the first word. Somehow, it felt weird to ask about the whole story as though he had drunk too much and passed out – for five weeks. If there was something he should absolutely know, Steve would tell him anyway.

“So... it's all fine,” he only said gingerly.

“Yep,” Steve repeated. “I don't know why you turned back, really, but it's just as well – you probably wanted to stretch your legs a bit.”

“ _Mr. Rogers,”_ a robotic voice interrupted. _“Miss Romanov is waiting for you in the gym for your daily sparring sessions.”_

“Thank you, Jarvis,” Steve said politely.

He smiled at Bruce. “Well, take your time getting up. I just wanted to make sure there was nothing wrong.”

“ _Miss Romanov is growing impatient, if I may say.”_

“Coming,” Steve answered, getting on his feet.

And with a last wave of his hand, he was gone. Bruce just sat there, absolutely thunderstruck. His head was spinning with everything Steve had said without actually realizing how new and overwhelming this would all feel to him. But of course, five weeks wouldn't sound like such a big deal to a man who had been in a coma for seventy years.

They were fighting together. They had sparring sessions. They had _nicknames_. And they all lived together in Stark Tower, as it seemed.

The Avengers had apparently fared beyond expectations.

Steve had just looked so... relaxed, even though the past month hadn't been exactly restful, from what Bruce had got. He had looked like he was – home.

The doctor breathed deeply, trying to relax a bit now that the initial shock had passed. He remembered how tense and wary he had felt five weeks ago, not sure whether this would work, whether this was a good idea ; now he was coming back to find everything looking bright and perfect. It was truly miraculous – almost unbelievable. For the first time in years, he had woken up from a transformation with a friendly voice next to him. He had a home, too, now. He was part of a strong team, people he could trust. People who tolerated the Hulk. _Appreciated_ him. He wouldn't have to hide anymore, wouldn't have to run or to fear now that his plan had worked – now that the Hulk had found a place in this world. It was really incredible, having this great of a burden taken off his shoulders. It was making him dizzy again, which was probably explaining the persistent feeling of uneasiness pooling in his stomach.

_Five weeks._

He breathed in and out with his eyes closed, and a long shiver ran through him. He expected this great void inside him to fill itself with well-being any second now.

 

But the shiver never faded and he ended up trembling for long minutes, curling up in the immense bed and trying to swallow the inexplicable lump in his throat.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys ! Remember how I said I would write a happy Bruce/Loki for a change ?  
> I LIED. 
> 
> I'll try and post real fast with this one. Please, tell me what you thought.


	2. Gap

 

 

 

 

 

As the sun began to come down, Bruce shivered in his thin jacket.

Getting up, he had encountered a very awkward moment of not knowing what to do with himself. It was a very bizarre feeling, but he supposed it was a positive one – it just meant he was not accustomed to having free time.

The Hulk had ceased to be a convulsing ball of rage in the back of his mind ; now that he could walk freely in the streets without any worries, it would have been stupid to stay inside. He longed for the sky and for freedom like never before. Which was strange, come to think of it, since he had not been really locked up for many years now. It was probably the after-effect of his fears of the day before –

Weeks. _Weeks_ before.

He shook his head briskly and kept walking.

The confusion in his mind just wouldn't clear up. Coming down the elevator, he had come across Tony who had grinned at him, said he should come to the lab when he had time, and handed him a phone so they could warn him if the Hulk was needed, and told him to enjoy his day off before waltzing out as fast as he had got in. A bit light-headed once again, Bruce had looked at the shiny, opaque surface of the high-tech jewel before stuffing it in his pocket and going out.

He had walked for hours and now felt a bit better. Still – it was 9 pm., and he had spent the entire day alone. His stomach was growling painfully, so he ended up stopping at the nearest corner to buy something – shwarma, he realized only half-way through his meal.

Suddenly, his legs felt weak. He sat on a bench and took a few relaxing breaths.

He really had not done anything with his day after all. But why was it bothering him so much ? He could do things tomorrow, and the day after that. Surviving one day to the next was just an old habit dying hard. He wasn't on the run anymore. Maybe he could go down to Tony's lab, see what he was working on. Chat with the others, get to know them better.

He breathed deeply one last time, then took another bite, chewing mechanically. He felt cold now, and the sky was dark, orangey and starless above the sleepless city.

The phone buzzed in his pocket, startling him. It was Tony.

_Everything good ?_

Bruce texted back his reply, fast enough even with the lack of practice.

_Coming back soon._

So. This meant he had to get up.

He crumpled his greasy paper and tossed it in a trash, then stretched out. He still felt strangely sore. When he looked up, Stark Tower's giant letters made him squint, glowing red in the night like a giant eye in the distance.

At least he wouldn't get lost.

 

*

 

Stark Tower's brightly-lit atrium made him blink and squint again. Bruce's eyes really had grown weirdly sensitive – or perhaps it was just this fluorescent, artificial light. For some unfathomable reason, his blood curdled when he turned to the elevator only to find himself face-to-face with a dark silhouette standing out against the walls.

“Clint,” he stammered. “I mean – Agent Barton. Hello.”

“Clint is fine,” the archer said with a smile which didn't quite reach his eyes.

Bruce's heart should not have been pounding like that.

“Are you – are you okay ?” he asked.

Barton blinked in surprise and Bruce cursed himself. _Shit, Banner, get it together._ He managed to calm down a little.

“I mean – we didn't really have a chance to talk after... what happened in Manhattan. How have you been doing ?”

“Not so bad,” Clint answered politely enough. “Thanks to Hulk, really.”

“Oh, yes – Steve told me... the two of you were getting along pretty well ?”

“That's an understatement,” the archer said with a half-smile. “You know when he's getting back ?”

Bruce's breath was briefly taken away. Clint just waited for the answer, looking every bit as relaxed and matter-of-fact as Steve had been. The doctor forced himself to breathe normally again.

“I'm – not sure,” he said. “When he's needed.”

Clint scratched his head.

“That's my point, actually – we kinda _were_ in the middle of something before you suddenly popped back...”

“Well I'm sorry” Bruce snapped. “We have to switch sometimes.”

He was himself taken aback as how aggressive he had sounded. Clint's expression remained neutral, but his eyes had grew colder.

“I guess you would know,” he said with that same impersonal politeness. “I won't be keeping you, then.”

He shook his hand with a brief nod before leaving.

Bruce was left alone with the rapidly fading sensation of Clint's warmth against his palm. The archer's shake had been strong and pleasantly dry. He stared at his own empty hand for a moment.

He did not feel very hungry anymore.

 

*

 

Bruce took a long shower which did not help him clear his mind in the slightest. His thoughts had felt blurry ever since the morning. He was tired, he decided. And he needed time to adapt, of course. This first day had been just a bit overwhelming.

Thankfully, he felt so exhausted sleep was not long to seize him.

 

A few hours later, a very vivid dream woke him up. He groaned inwardly, feeling too hot under the sheets. He kept having sex dreams on a regular basis even though he hadn't slept with anyone since the accident. It felt like his brain was playing a cruel trick on him every time. He supposed it was better than the nightmares, but still – he preferred his nights dreamless. It was easier that way.

He began to drift off again, the shapes and colors growing clearer instead of fading away. It was a man, which was no problem in itself – Bruce had always slept with both genders in his dreams as far as he could remember – but it was Clint Barton.

 _Oh, come on._ He buried his face in the pillow, trying to shake it off. He would rather not dream about his teammates. What if the Hulk told them afterwards ? Was his alter ego ever talking about him with the others ? It was a disturbing thought – but it jarred him out of his unwanted fantasies. He didn't even like Barton, he thought vaguely. He was just frustrated at not being able to communicate with him. At least Clint got along well with one half of him.

And this one half of him apparently liked _Clint_ so much that it influenced the other half.

Suddenly fully awake, Bruce turned on his back, trying to grasp his own fleeting thought. There was something here, something important. The Hulk influencing _him ?_ The doctor actually remembered things from his transformations, nothing more than a blur of colors – but he realized this was probably why the impression of being out of phase with reality wouldn't fade away. He had _felt_ these five weeks passing by. He was aware of a gap, a discrepancy, as though he had woken up from a coma rather than from a restless night, like it usually felt. On the other hand, he hadn't really _lost_ those days – the living proof of it was the swelling of his own feelings towards his teammates, the protectiveness which had grown subconsciously while he was...

_Subconsciously._

Suddenly it all clicked into place.

Usually, the Hulk's actions would be a reaction to Bruce's feelings and desires. It was his subconscious unleashing onto the world, and it lasted only long enough for steam to be let out ; then the conscious half would regain its natural supremacy. But this time, the Hulk had been out for a very long time. He had stored up emotions and knowledge he could not deal with, other than through immediate reactions ; so it had all been dumped on Bruce when he had come round, leaving him to process five weeks of memories all in once – _subconscious_ memories to top it all. It was bound to feel unnatural, waking up to find his own feelings having evolved during his sleep, as though a stranger had been moving the furniture in his home at night. If the Hulk kept having the greater share of their common time now, it would be like following a path in complete darkness with only dim-lit checkpoints here and there.

Unpleasant as it was, Bruce would have to put up with it. He could make it work, now that he had figured it out ; he would just need a week or two on his own to catch up, to let it all sink in. It would be all right. Gap, checkpoint.

He turned on his side and wrapped himself tight enough so he couldn't feel his own shivers.

 

*

 

Clint opened the steel door.

Banner was lying on the narrow bunk, wearing dark SHIELD clothes which made him look very pale. The archer went inside and sat next to the bed. He just watched him for a few minutes. It was weird, thinking that Hulk was lurking inside somewhere. A bit frustrating, too, not to be able to reach his friend – but they needed the doctor on this one.

“Doc ?” Clint called when Banner twitched. “Are you waking up ?”

The doctor shivered again, his eyes twitching behind his eyelids. He suddenly opened them – screwing them shut right back as though the dim light had burned his retinas. Clint was surprised at his obvious panic. While Hulk could not have possibly trusted his teammates more, Banner obviously did not share the feeling.

“This – ” the doctor visibly forced himself to open his eyes again and take a look around. “This isn't Stark Tower ?”

Clint frowned at him for a second, then remembered. “Nah, the Skrulls attacked that very night you came back. They shouldn't have started with Hulk's floor, though. Big green mistake.”

Banner stared at him as though he had seen a ghost.

“I see,” he said eventually.

He sounded calmer already, but his eyes were still a bit too wide. He sat up and rubbed his forehead with a wince.

“Um – excuse me, that was... how long ago ?”

He was even paler now, and the archer pitied him a little.

“Something like two weeks,” he said. “Yeah, you must feel a little lost. Shit just kept piling up lately – which is why we called you back, actually. SHIELD needs your help with something.”

Banner nodded tentatively. He still looked a little hazy, but Clint guessed he could not blame him. He suddenly remembered something when the doctor narrowed his eyes again under the light.

“Here, I found your glasses after last time. It's a miracle they escaped all the smashing, really. Thought you might want them.”

Banner blinked at him. He parted his lips as though he was about to say something, but nothing came out. Eventually, he reached out to take the frail object, and turned it in his hands.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

He didn't put them on, though. Clint frowned, but said nothing. If Banner wanted to keep squinting like a mole, good for him.

“So,” the doctor said. “Why does SHIELD...”

“Right,” Clint answered, getting up. “Follow me.”

 

*

 

_GAP_

 

He took a deep, deep breath, and exhaled.

_Checkpoint._

Barton had not said a word since they had left the steel room, but for once, Bruce was glad he was being taciturn. He needed time to get in phase with himself. Two more weeks – _eventful_ weeks – to synchronize with. God, he hadn't expected he wouldn't even last the night...

Except he had _._ Although he wouldn't admit it to himself, he _had_ had the eerie feeling that he wouldn't be able to enjoy his own body for more than a single day. He was not especially glad to have been proved right, though.

When he had woken up in this small steel cell, he had encountered a second of true, breathtaking terror, _what day, what month, what_ year _is it –_ but now things were settling back. Minutes later, he felt a bit more assured already.

He looked at Barton walking ahead and struggled to repress a wave of unwanted fondness, seemingly coming out of nowhere. It reminded him of his dream, where there had been only tenderness and desire between him and Clint – so unlike the reality. But he knew these emotions to be a direct aftermath of the growing bond between Barton and his other half. They must really get along for Bruce to resonate with it so strongly. It felt all the more wrong to be treated this distantly now ; he couldn't help aching as though his oldest friend suddenly wasn't recognizing him anymore, and it only made it worse to know that he had no right to claim these feelings as his.

 _We're not even friends,_ he berated himself. But Clint's stern demeanor kept unsettling him. In fact, he really was being unusually tense ; according to the doctor's reptilian memory, anyway.

Right. This could only mean one thing.

“Is Loki back ?” Bruce asked softly.

Barton kept walking, but his shoulders went stiff. After a while, he said in a controlled voice :

“You're very sharp, doc.”

Bruce could have kicked himself. Of course it would make Clint uneasy, knowing the doctor could read him like an open book. Bruce just couldn't seem to do anything right when it came to him. He felt miserable thinking that his _subconscious_ was better at this than him.

For a minute, he wondered whether he should explain that he was this perceptive only thanks to Clint's friendship with the Hulk ; but once again, he feared he would just make things worse.

“Sorry,” he only mumbled.

“No offense,” the archer quite obviously lied in a dry tone. “I was about to brief you anyway.”

Bruce nodded, forcing himself to ignore the painful tension between them.

“What is the situation, then ?” he asked. “Did Loki escape ?”

“No. Thor brought him back for us to play.”

An unpleasant feeling settled between Bruce's ribs.

“What do you mean ?”

“The Asgardian justice apparently decided that Earth had earned its place back in the Great Space Tree or whatever it is they call it,” Clint said. “Problem is, we're like the Captain America of the Nine Realms – we've been left behind for a very long time, and it's going to take years for us to catch up. They thought we could use Loki as a valuable source of knowledge.”

“Okay,” Bruce said noncommittally. “And... is he cooperating ?”

“Come on, doc,” Barton sniggered. “Do you seriously think we'd try _talking_ to him ? The God of Lies ? I'm sure he would have been delighted teaching us a bunch of crap. Even Tony keeps trolling Cap because he can and it's fun.”

It made sense, of course – Loki was obviously a poisoned gift ; it was a cunning move from Asgard. In one go, they had gotten rid of their resident evil and offered Earth an honoring repayment, while still effectively keeping mortals from punching above their weight. Quite the strategists, really. It made Bruce uneasy to think that the demi-god had just been handed to them as a compensation for the harm done. Even though it did sound like a fitting sentence, the doctor was only too familiar with this kind of dehumanization.

Dangerous ground.

He cleared his throat. “So – what am I here for ?”

“Well, we can still get information from him” Barton said. “His blood, his metabolism, his magic. Anything he can give.”

Bruce stopped dead in his tracks.

Something shifted inside him, like a giant turning on himself in his sleep. Suddenly, his uncontrollable fondness for Clint was fading, and his eyes weren't hurting him anymore.

“You want me to experiment on him ?” he said very, very softly.

The archer did not fail to hear the threat behind his words. Anyone else would have tried to sugarcoat it, so Bruce was strangely grateful when Barton turned to face him and answered abruptly, “Yes.”

He crossed his arms, his gaze more piercing than ever. “We need you to study him. If you can't do it, just say so. SHIELD will find someone else. They only asked you first because you're the best.”

In his mouth, it sounded by no means like a compliment. He was staring straight at the doctor, who stared back, his thoughts running at full speed.

His first reaction was a strong decisive _no_ , with an itching to add _go fuck yourself_ for good measure. Even if he had never been on the receiving end of this sort of thing, he would not have agreed to using another sentient being as a test subject. He could not be expected to comply with this abomination.

But Barton had been very clear. _We can find someone else._ This was happening, with or without Bruce Banner's input. And the doctor was pretty sure he was the only one among SHIELD's range of choices who would think of Loki as a person – a wicked one, but still. He couldn't just withdraw in protest. He had to be more clever than that. This time, in order to do the right thing, he had to make the wrong choice.

A sudden thought crossed his mind, something so low and so ugly he was ashamed just to think about it. If he was needed with Loki, the Avengers would have to bring him back more regularly. He wouldn't have to worry about being put under for maybe even more than five weeks.

What a selfish, disgusting motive.

He swallowed back his nauseating self-disgust and reasoned himself. The previous argument was just as good as this one was bad. Bruce would not be able to live with himself knowing that he had abandoned someone – even an enemy, even an insane murderer – to be exploited as a lab rat.

And of course, there was a third reason.

But – he was not prepared to face it just now, even though he knew he would not escape it in the end. So he pushed it away for the time being, licked his lips, then nodded.

“Okay,” he said in a hollow voice, the words sinking down inside him. “I'll do it.”

“Are you sure ?”

“Yes,” Bruce snapped.

He took a deep breath, pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes, I'm sure.”

“Well. Much appreciated,” Barton said.

He sounded hesitant, and Bruce had the strange feeling he had followed his inner turmoil step by step. He was also under the impression maybe it was Clint's turn to experience a sympathy he had trouble expressing. And indeed, the archer added, in a more uncertain tone :

“I didn't agree with Fury on this one, you know.”

Bruce was not willing to help him out, though. Not this time. He just began walking again without a word, anger quietly boiling under the surface just like in the old days. Clint's features hardened, but he kept silent and followed him through the suffocating hallways.

 

*

 

Natasha was guarding the door. She only nodded at Bruce when he appeared next to Clint, allowing a slight hint of surprise to show on her face.

“I didn't think you'd agree,” she said.

He smiled at her. He was good at smiling when he wanted to do exactly the opposite.

“Maybe you don't know me as well as you thought.”

She looked at him pensively, but didn't add anything and handed him a lab coat. Bruce put it on in a fluid movement sharpened by of years of practice. The strictly scientific part of his brain was already running calculations and hypothesis, but they always ended up coming against the human factor. The fact that Loki was not technically human wasn't helping in the slightest. He took a deep breath and forced his mind back on safer, emotionless tracks.

“How much time do I have ?” he said, finally putting his glasses on now that his eyes had adjusted to the light.

“As long as you need.”

“As long as we don't need Hulk, that is,” Clint pin-pointed.

Bruce had to repress a surge of pain and anger. _I_ got _it, you like him better._ He immediately gave a sour inner laugh at himself, because – really ? He couldn't afford to think like that. It was not only self-centered, but also plain ridiculous and completely sterile. Besides, he had much more worrying problems right now.

“I want to be alone with him. No guards, no assistants. This is non-negotiable,” he added when Natasha opened her mouth. “If I'm doing this, I'm doing it my way.”

Clint crossed his arms again, but said nothing. Natasha raised a thin eyebrow at Bruce. He knew his motivations were no mystery to her, whatever she said. She knew his file by heart. They probably all did.

He stared back calmly, daring her to speak up. After a while, she only acquiesced.

“We'll record security footage,” she still said. “And you'll have to report after each session.”

The doctor had expected as much. He nodded. “I can work with that.”

“Very well, then.”

She stepped aside. “Put you hand on the scanner, doc.”

He complied and the heavy door opened with a _clank._

“Be careful” she said as he was about to step inside. “This is Loki. He will mess with your mind if he gets the chance. Don't let him.”

He quirked a soft smile at her as thanks, then walked inside, letting the heavy door slam back behind him.

 

*

 

Clint watched the door closing with mixed feelings. Sure, Banner had a knack for making him edgy ; but while the doctor was good at covering up his emotions, he hadn't been able to hide his paleness. And the archer couldn't help siding with him on this one. First of all, having Loki back was all shades of wrong in his book ; second of all, it was kind of insensitive to get _Bruce Banner_ to experiment on him – on anyone. Seriously, what was Fury thinking ?

Sure, they needed the best for this job, someone who would have both the brawn to handle Loki and the brain to study him. Banner undeniably fitted the description. Anyway, he was now obviously dead set on not letting anyone else get his hands on the demi-god. As though he could somehow rescue his past self by sparing Loki the worst.

Clint winced inwardly. He didn't care much what happened to scum like Loki, but he couldn't resent Banner for thinking otherwise. The guy had every right to be pissed.

The doctor hadn't been pleased even before hearing about the Divine Drag, though. Clint remembered how lost he had looked, blinking against the harsh white light, toying with his glasses without putting them on. He never seemed too happy being around, and he certainly hadn't been glad to be called back this time. Another memory came back to Clint – Banner's unassuming, nervous voice as he explained his idea to them. _I was thinking maybe the Hulk could be a part of this team on a more regular basis, if you were ready to give it a try..._

Yeah, of course waking up in a SHIELD cell would set him on edge. He was obviously still worried about the Hulk fitting in – worried about being suddenly called back because people were getting tired of the Other Guy. He _had_ been anxious to know about the archer's relationship with Hulk, come to think of it.

Well, Clint could reassure him on this point. But later. He wouldn't dream of entering the lab right now. He didn't even want to think about Loki hiding behind the heavy door ; it made him itch for his bow.

Nothing good could possibly come out of this.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're liking this, readers ^^ Do let me know !


	3. Experiment

 

 

 

 

 

At first, Bruce could not even recognize him.

The demi-god had been stripped of his armor and clothes. He was only wearing a white paper shirt, and his inky hair was spread loose on the steel table. His restraints were of steel too, pinning him to the cold metal, digging in his flesh. He was not muzzled this time, but he was wearing a thin silver chain to hold his magic in check, and a black strap around his neck that Bruce recognized as a shock collar. As for the lab in itself, it was even more impressive than the few glimpses the doctor had caught from Tony Stark's workshop. For a second, his mind swarmed with ideas and projects he had been dying to bring to fruition for many years now ; but that faint spark of joy faded as soon as it was born.

The sound of the door closing had not elicited the slightest reaction from Loki. But when Bruce took a step inside, he opened his eyes. He could only stare at the ceiling ; however, he was so obviously aware of the doctor's presence that he could have been looking at him right in the eye. He seemed quite calm, his breathing deep and regular, but his features had lost the ironic edge they had on the Helicarrier.

Bruce tried to repress his memories. He had been there too, helpless, trying to hide his intoxicating terror, to cling on what he could still save of his dignity. He would never have believed he would one day take the torturer's place. This thought made the Hulk stir inside him again, even though the flashbacks themselves had not gotten him to move. Bruce rubbed his temples, taking deep breaths, thinking of control, security, peace.

“What a surprise,” Loki said.

Bruce startled and looked up. The demi-god was still looking calmly at the ceiling, his voice smooth and composed.

“After what happened, I thought Fury would know better than allowing a beast to prowl about his territory.”

Bruce smiled in the corner of his mouth, even though Loki could not see him.

“He's not a beast anymore, you know,” he said.

His words echoed through the impersonal, sterile lab. He walked to the steel table, only too aware of the way the demi-god tensed imperceptibly as he approached. His whole body language screamed defiance, as though he had been tortured before and dared Bruce to do his worst. Which was probably the case.

Bruce stopped next to him. “Do you know why you're here ?” he said softly.

Loki gave a small mirthless laugh. “My flesh is apparently worth more than my words.”

Bruce shifted a little to the left when he caught sight of a camera staring at them from a corner. “You don't agree with that ?”

Loki winced disdainfully and kept silent.

Now that he was this close, Bruce could not keep the excruciating details from jumping at him, still awfully vivid in his own memories. How cold the steel must feel through the thin paper gown. The painful awareness of his own vulnerability. The chafing of the restraints. He closed his eyes again, gathering himself.

“What is this ?” Loki said. “You dare not look at me.”

Bruce said nothing. The demi-god smirked, arching his head back in a parody of a stretching cat, his wrists straining against the steel which did not move an inch.

“Am I unsettling you ? Was savagery truly your only form of courage ?”

His smirk grew sharper and whiter.

“Or is it the knowledge that you belong on this table more than I do ?”

Bruce opened his mouth, then huffed a small laugh.

“You think you can get me to change,” he said. _“That's_ your plan ?”

Loki's smile vanished.

“It's not going to work twice. Beside, I told you,” Bruce went on. “He's not a beast anymore. Actually, he's everyone's favorite now.”

“Delusional,” the demi-god muttered through gritted teeth.

“Oh – want me to show you ?” the doctor said in a low voice.

The demi-god lay taut for a second, then said slowly, reluctantly, “It won't be necessary.”

Bruce let out a breath. He hadn't planned to threaten him, but he should have known that the demi-god would not make it easy for him. He knew he had to get down to work : but he still could not get himself to touch Loki, even though the black eye of the camera was drilling his back.

“I am growing cold,” the demi-god said sharply. “And weary. Do what you must, so I can get back to my cell.”

Bruce heard it for what it was once again. He too had wished for his torturers to get it over with. Not knowing what would be done to him had been the worst part. Every time, the excruciating anticipation, the theories piling up in his head, each one worse than the one before, but somehow still less than reality, every time.

He took a deep breath. This wouldn't work – not like that. He had to set things straight if he wanted to escape the flashbacks.

“Look,” he said. “I've been told to study you, and that's what I'm going to do. But I want you to know you can ask me to stop. You still have a say in this.”

This time, Loki burst out laughing. Bruce was expecting it, but it was not a very pleasant sound.

“ _A say in this ?”_ the demi-god repeated. “Tell me, doctor – if I ask _not_ to be studied, will you leave me in peace ? If I ask to be sent back home, will you set me free ?”

For the first time, he glanced at him in the corner of his eye.

“Delusional,” he repeated.

The doctor did not retort. Of course he was aware that an alien war criminal at the hands of SHIELD had virtually nonexistent rights. Of course it was completely ridiculous indeed, to pretend that Loki could just ask him to back off if he felt uncomfortable. The only reason he was here was to be studied ; he did not have _any_ say in this.

But Bruce Banner did.

“You can laugh,” he said softly. “I will not allow things to cross the line.”

Loki sniggered, but now it sounded like he was mocking himself as much as he was mocking Bruce.

“The line,” he said wryly. “What line, doctor ?”

 _“My_ line,” Bruce answered.

The demi-god's smile faltered, then faded ; and he fell silent.

Bruce waited for a bit longer, then straightened up.

“Alright,” he said. “I'll just take blood samples for today.”

 

Loki's face remained carefully blank when Bruce drew his blood out.

“I'll take five vials,” the doctor explained. “One for the freezer, one for the burner, one for the analyzer, one for the DNA mapping – that'll be the longest part – and one for the control sample, of course.”

At the third vial, he asked : “By the way, did the anesthetic work on you?”

The demi-god did not answer. Bruce wasn't blaming him ; he wouldn't have answered either.

“I don't expect your blood to freeze at a normal temperature,” he commented as he opened the freezer. “Unless Odin's spell changes more than just your appearance.”

Loki closed his eyes.

“Thor told us,” Bruce answered, even though no question had been asked. “It doesn't make much difference to us Midgardians, though, just so you know.”

He patched the demi-god's arm, then went back to the other samples. If Loki had reopened his eyes to watch him, Bruce wasn't aware of it ; he still kept mumbling comments under his breath, carefully describing everything he was doing while making it sound like he was mostly talking to himself. The fourth vial resisted to the DNA mapper as he expected – SHIELD had provided him with unheard-of biotech software applications, but Loki's blood was apparently something even the analyzers had never heard of. Hell, Bruce could not even be sure Loki had DNA at all. He would have to rough out an algorithm of his own if he wanted to try and find out. He focused on doing just that for the next four hours, then announced that they just had to wait for the first results now, and got up to leave.

Loki kept silent the entire time. He had not opened his eyes again.

 

*

 

When he got out of the lab, a SHIELD squad was waiting for him in the hallway. Clint was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. He raised his eyebrows at Bruce in a silent question ; when the doctor nodded, he made a signal to the team leader. The man pulled out some sort of little remote and pressed its only button, then took his team inside the lab. The doctor thought wiser not to ask about the security protocol when it came to move a god around.

“How did it go ?” Barton asked.

Bruce reported to him briefly and handed him his notes. Clint skimmed through the thing, then nodded and with a sign of his head invited the doctor to follow him in the dark hallways.

“Was he trouble ?” he went on as they slowly made they way back.

Bruce shrugged. He wasn't going to tell him about Loki's acid comments, nor about his own promises.

“The surgery table isn't necessary,” he only said. “And let him have his clothes. It's uncomfortable for the both of us.”

Barton nodded.

“I talked to Fury,” he went on. “He's glad you accepted.”

“He's very welcome,” the doctor deadpanned.

“He's thinking once a week for the experiments. Would that suit you ?”

They were in the elevator now. Bruce looked absently at Clint's nimble fingers as he punched a digital code in the steel wall.

“I can make it work,” he said.

“Good.”

When the elevator doors opened, the archer turned to him with an off-handed smile.

“See you next week, then.”

Bruce looked at him for a second, startled ; when he understood neither him nor Clint were going anywhere, there could be no doubts left as to what the archer implied. He opened his mouth, but closed it without saying anything.

This _was_ what he wanted. He shouldn't forget that.

“See you next week,” he echoed in an empty voice.

He closed his eyes, and let the green haze drown him out.

 

*

 

“Hello, doctor.”

The light was still dazzling, but his eyes were a bit less sensitive than last time, and he immediately knew where he was and to whom this deep voice belonged. This probably meant SHIELD had stuck to the schedule, which was a relief – the only relief he had had in...

He closed his eyes. Eight weeks. To him it had felt like three days.

“Ready to go ?” Fury asked.

Bruce straightened up and realized he was dressed in SHIELD gear again.

“These clothes...” he said, propped up on his elbows.

Fury, who was already half-way out, turned back, looking exasperated as always. “They're Hulk's,” he said. “Stark engineered them using Reed Richards's cellular structure.”

“Oh,” Bruce only muttered.

Maybe he should have been glad nobody was dressing him up while he was unconscious. But he felt nothing, really.

“Have you seen my glasses ?” he asked.

Fury stared at him for a second, looking a bit taken aback for once.

“I don't have them,” he admitted eventually. “Barton's usually the one carrying them around.”

Bruce did not know how to react to this bit of information, but something in Fury's voice alarmed him.

“Is he alright ?”

“He's been wounded in action,” Fury said. “But Hulk got him out in time. He's recovering.”

Bruce nodded, true relief washing over him this time.

“Doctor – shall we now ?” the director said, impatience back in his voice.

Bruce got on his feet and followed him through the dark hallways. He was glad Fury had told him soon enough this time, and he decided he would go check on Clint after this. This project, small as it may be, gave him something to look forward ; nobody could deny him the right to visit a teammate. Nobody would make him change right back this time.

He entered the lab a bit more light-hearted.

Loki was already there, of course. He was strapped not to the steel table this time, but to a reinforced chair, and he was wearing a black-and-green leather tunic instead of a paper gown. The shock collar was still here, but it probably was a lesser evil. There had been no need for it yet, anyway.

Loki's eyes never left Bruce until he had got close enough.

“Is this your doing ?” he asked before the doctor had a chance to speak.

“What ?” Bruce could only say.

“This arrangement,” the demi-god explained, gesturing at himself as much as his restraints would allow.

“Oh.”

Bruce set his notes on a table, and turned on the computer. “Yes, I told them I wasn't planning to dissect you just now” he said with sour irony.

He was turning his back to Loki, but the demi-god still spoke up.

“You were being sincere, then.”

“About what I said yesterday ? I – ”

“You mean last week.”

Bruce lost track of what he was doing. He turned to Loki, who was staring at him with his thin eyebrows slightly raised.

“Uh – yeah,” he said. “That's what I meant.”

He swallowed, then forced his soft smile back on his lips. “How do you keep track of time ?”

Loki showed his teeth. “If you are asking whether there is a window in my cell, the answer is no.”

“Well,” Bruce murmured. “I'm afraid I won't be able to help you with that.”

The demi-god kept staring at him, but didn't make any comments. The doctor kept his slight smile and turned back to the computer. His algorithm had sputtered out a few imprecise results before giving up. He would have to rewrite it. It could also be a good idea to experiment on different kind of samples.

“Will you be taking my blood again ?” Loki asked out of the blue.

His expression was guarded ; he obviously wanted to know whether Bruce would keep telling him what was being done to him.

“No, only hair and nails today,” Bruce mumbled absently.

After a while, he added :

“I'm – not going to rip them off. Your nails, I mean.”

“Did I say you would ?” Loki said flatly.

Bruce smiled again. He took a nail clipper and sat next to the demi-god, who obligingly opened his left hand, extending his long, pale fingers. His skin was cool under Bruce's touch. It only took him seconds to clip Loki's nails ; he then cut a lock of the black hair before going back to sit at the computer.

“You're very compliant,” he observed absent-mindedly half-way through his experiment.

Loki looked at him for some time, as though he was pondering whether or not to snap at him. But when he finally spoke, it was in a low voice.

“Did you put up more of a fight back then ?”

Bruce froze, staring sightlessly at the screen.

After a while, the demi-god conceded, “It was not a very difficult guess.”

No, of course it wasn't, Bruce thought wearily. Loki knew who he was – probably knew everyone's files thanks to Barton's mind-controlled episode. And Bruce's qualms would have sold him eventually, anyway.

“Well,” he murmured after a deep breath. “I suppose I did.”

He smiled wryly at Loki. “I couldn't let them make a weapon out of me, could I ?”

“They are going to make a weapon out of _me,”_ the demi-god said coldly.

There was a much thicker silence. Loki was looking at him with sharp, accusing eyes ; but his gaze faltered and turned into a slight frown when he realized Bruce was staring back without the slightest hint of guilt.

After a while, the doctor just turned back to his computer.

“I'm trying again to map your DNA,” he said distantly. “This is going to keep the network busy for a very long time, so we're done for today.”

He got up, tapping his papers on the table, then left without another word.

 

This was the other reason.

The unspoken one, the one he had chosen not to dwell on while knowing he would have to confront it sooner or later _._ Because Loki's status as a substitute for the Tesseract in Phase Two was obvious – after all, Phase Two _was_ about advancing high-tech weapons from stolen alien knowledge. Bruce's research was bound to be weaponized in the end.

And it only made him more intent to keep this awful job – so he could ensure it would not happen. Not again. Not this time. Whatever the price.

This meant he would twist his own work as to provide only harmless, unemployable results. This meant he was purposefully sabotaging SHIELD. This meant he was willingly throwing away the unique chance he had been so desperate to build. This meant he would inevitably end up losing everything, once again.

He had simply no choice.

To top it all, there was a serious risk Loki had understood from their shared silence. It would not have been a difficult guess, either.

 

*

 

When Banner came out of the lab, Fury nodded to the team leader who pushed the black button before leading his men in. The doctor looked wary of the squad and maybe a bit curious about the remote, but he didn't ask anything. He took off his lab coat and handed his notes to the director, with the soft smile that never seemed to leave the corner of his mouth.

Fury took the folder and frowned at the narrow handwriting. He couldn't ask Stark to double-check Banner's work, of course ; the billionaire had proved himself too much of a loose cannon along with Rogers that last time on the Helicarrier. He would have to find someone else, maybe Reed Richards.

“Director Fury,” Banner said softly.

Fury looked up from the notes. “Yes ? You are free to go.”

The doctor nodded in acknowledgment, but added, “I would like to visit Agent Barton.”

“Hulk already went to see him yesterday,” Fury said.

Banner's smile tensed ever so slightly.

“I'd still like to visit him.”

Fury shrugged. “As you wish, doctor. Medical's on third floor – you know the way to the elevator.”

 

*

 

The sunlight through the windows felt like a blessing, even though the sterile hallways of the SHIELD hospital made the doctor very uneasy. He found Clint's room easily enough. The door was open, and from where he was standing, he could see the archer lying on a bed with thick bandages around his chest and a look of bottomless boredom on his face. Bruce stopped in the doorframe, suddenly nervous. He had not really thought about what he would say. Actually, considering his history with the archer, perhaps it would be better just to –

“Dr. Banner,” Clint said, startling him.

Damn – of course _Hawkeye_ would notice him standing there like an idiot.

The archer straightened in his bed with a wince that didn't quite wipe out the surprised look off his face.

“Is it Loki's day already ?”

Bruce tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach. Barton was probably just trying to situate himself in time – he couldn't possibly be asking Bruce for a justification as to why he hadn't changed right back. Not when the doctor was coming to visit him.

Bruce swallowed back the lump in his throat and just nodded as he took a chair next to Clint's bed. There was a second of awkward silence ; only when he started wringing his hands did he realize they were empty.

“Oh – sorry,” he blurted out. “I came straight from the lab, I don't... have any flowers, or anything.”

“Thank God,” Barton grinned.

It was the most sincere smile Bruce had ever drawn from him, and he could not help smiling back. He could not help _liking_ him, either. Of course, it was only the Hulk's feelings. Not his. Still, for a single, nice second, he thought maybe they were off to a better start. Then he dared ask Clint for the whole story and the archer briefly quirked his eyebrows in the expression universally understood as _oh that's right,_ you _don't know about this._

And Bruce felt like he had been doused in cold water.

He only listened distantly to Barton's story, nodding at the right places, smiling mechanically at his snarky comments. He had wanted to enjoy the moment, but he just felt hollow now.

“...and I'd be dead if not for Jade Jaws,” he concluded with a bright smile which lit up his stern face. “He must be getting tired of catching me.”

Bruce stared at him.

“Jade Jaws ?” he finally said.

Clint gave a little laugh. “Yeah, I had to find him a nickname, since he keeps calling me – ”

“Cupid,” Bruce murmured. “I know.”

Suddenly, he could not stand being here anymore. He forced himself to smile and got up.

“Well, I've got to go. Get well soon.”

He stormed out of the room, painfully aware of Clint's surprised frown. He knew he had been too brutal yet again, that he was behaving like a stupid, spoiled child, but right now, he could not care. He needed to get out of here. He needed to breathe.

 

*

 

The doors opened on ground floor. Right now, there was nothing Bruce wished more than to go outside. But just as he stepped out of the elevator, his phone buzzed in his pocket.

_Avengers Assemble._

 

The truth hit him like a ton of bricks.

He wasn't an Avenger. He hadn't even realized he was clinging so tightly to this illusion – after all, he had told himself from the beginning that he was working for the _Hulk's_ good, not his own. But now that it was shattering, he couldn't lie to himself anymore. He _had_ wished to be a part of this – but to him _Assemble_ just meant  _Go away._ He wasn't one of them. He was the one with the dull rumpled clothes. He was the other guy, and this should _not_ have felt like a revelation to him.

Loki's cold, mocking voice echoed in his ears. _“Delusional.”_

And he must be a coward indeed, because he closed his eyes and transformed – only so he couldn't hear him anymore.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading ! Comments still deeply appreciated ^^


	4. Promise

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ah, _there_ he was.

“Hey, doc,” Tony saluted him, grinning under his face-plate. “Dropped the naturist routine, uh ? I guess you felt green enough already.”

Banner sat up in the ruins. It was quite a peculiar sight, this rather ordinary man dressed in cutting-edge reinforced SHIELD gear in the middle of a smoking crater. He was squinting hazily at his surroundings – and apparently impervious to Tony's brilliant wit.

“ _If I may interrupt your standalone, sir,”_ Jarvis said, making an emphasis on the 'alone' part, _“Captain America might find himself in need of help shortly.”_

“Got it.”

His face-plate slid up. “I'd love to stay and chat, doc, but I have to take you to safety – battle's not quite over yet.”

Banner nodded ; the billionaire couldn't help being vaguely impressed when he saw that his gaze had cleared already, as though he had somehow managed to catch up on the entire situation while Tony was talking to his AI. Well, of course the doctor would be used to it after so many years.

“Why am I back if it's not over ?” he still asked as Tony helped him up, his voice even softer with tiredness.

“Hulk was shot with a gamma dampener,” Tony winced. “We almost won though, so it should be – ”

Something exploded very loudly in the background.

 _“Sir !”_ Jarvis exclaimed in his ear. _“Captain Rogers – ”_

“Shit,” Tony hissed. “Look, I'm gonna give you a quick ride to Stark Tower and I'll see you there, alright ?”

Banner didn't even have time to react before Tony grabbed him and blasted off. It only took him seconds to reach his tower, which was for once blessedly away from the center of action ; he rather unceremoniously dumped the doctor on the roof and doubled back at full speed.

_“STEVE !”_

 

*

 

_“Doctor Banner ?”_

Sitting on the floor, Bruce startled and looked up from his calculations. Night had fallen without him noticing. The tower was empty and eerily silent.

“Jarvis,” he breathed, throat dry. “Anything ?”

_“Very good news, I'm glad to say. Mr. Rogers will be alright.”_

The doctor let out a breath, suddenly drained out with relief, and leaned back on the wall with a heavy sigh.

“Thank God,” he mumbled, rubbing his tired eyes.

He stayed there for a while, then absently looked down at the notebook open on his crossed legs.

Nearly six hours had passed since Tony had dropped him on his terrace, and Bruce had not dared to go back to Hulk's floor out of the unspoken fear something dreadful would happen without him hearing about it in time. He had only come inside to shield himself from the freezing wind which bit him even through his combat gear, and stayed there in an awkward in-between, pacing and wringing his hands, not knowing what to do with himself. Eventually, to distract himself from the unbearable stress of being alone in the tower, anxiously waiting for news which just wouldn't come, he had somehow thrown himself body and soul into work. He flipped the pages of the notebook, re-reading what he had written in autopilot mode. Defensive and offensive tech, mostly.

 _Uh._ He had not dared to work on this kind of stuff since the accident, but this was what he had come up with in his worry for Steve.

Steve, Steve would be alright. He sighed again, letting the news sink in further down.

“Jarvis,” he said. “Is Tony coming back anytime soon ?”

 _“I am afraid Mr. Stark has been offered a bed in medical as well,”_ the AI said, not sounding sorry at all – Bruce could see why Jarvis would be glad to know someone was forcing Tony to be looked after.

“ _Agent Romanov is staying too,”_ Jarvis went on. _“They should be coming back tomorrow.”_

Bruce nodded. He probably ought to sleep, now. It was dark outside, and he was tired, but he didn't want to slip away from the world just yet. To come back so soon had been unhoped-for, and he would rather make the most of... his...

His cheeks suddenly burned red with guilt when he realized he was feeling _grateful_ for the gamma dampener. What the hell was wrong with him ? Steve had almost died because Tony had lost time taking _him_ to safety, for Christ's sake !

He buried his face in his hands, and when his fingers ran up to his thick, curly hair, his eyes fell back on the scribbled equations. Even though he couldn't stand himself right now, he was still terrified at the thought of sleeping himself into oblivion. The emotionless math on the page suddenly looked like an easy way out. Run away from his problems – that was what he did best.

He winced and covered his eyes again.

“Jarvis,” he called wearily. “Please – is there a lab I could use ?”

 

*

 

A sudden racket of voices violently startled Bruce out of his scientific fever. His heart pounding, it took him a while to realize that the giant screen embedded in the wall had turned on for no apparent reason. He looked around and realized daylight was overflowing the small lab. He had been slaving away all night on his projects.

It should _not_ have tasted like sour victory.

Besides, he was now completely worn out. The clutter of the TV rang out painfully in his head.

“Jarvis,” he winced, his voice thick. “What's this ?”

“ _Just routine, doctor Banner. All screens in the tower turn on for the daily news,”_ the AI answered composedly. _“Mr. Stark set it shortly after he first became Iron Man.”_

Bruce winced again and opened his mouth to ask Jarvis to turn it off, but the words caught in his throat when he saw the massive green silhouette jumping across the screen.

It was _him_.

Them.

At first, he thought it was footage from yesterday's battle, but as it turned out the images must be something like two weeks old, since Clint Barton was in them. A small view-counter in the bottom right corner showed hundreds of millions of views. The newscaster was lively commenting on it all, but Bruce couldn't even hear her voice. He was mesmerized by what he was seeing.

First, there was the Hulk – people would always notice him first, especially now that he was dressed in battle-gear. It could have looked ridiculous, this mass of muscles in tight black uniform, but it actually made him seem even more impressive, as though his uncontrollable power had been concentrated and given an aim. He was grinning this ferocious grin which comes with the joy of fighting.

And Barton was on his shoulders.

Bruce wondered if he was the only one to find the archer even more incredible than the green leviathan he was riding. Probably not, because – Clint was balancing himself on his back with the prodigious ease of a trained surfer battling a gigantic wave, perfectly in tune with each of his movements while shooting arrows with infallible accuracy. The Hulk was leaping, running, smashing, and Clint somehow stayed on his back, always shifting his weight exactly when he was meant to, taking no more than the few necessary steps required for him not to fall while the background flashed past behind him in a blur of colors. His gaze was invisible behind his dark streamlined glasses, which made him look all the more superhuman in his deadly grace.

The doctor felt like something was tearing him from the inside at the sight.

He had been told they were getting along – but this was so, so much more than just _getting along._ Their complementarity was so obvious it hurt. He had scolded himself before for resenting Barton's dryness, but now he was just plain ashamed. Only an idiot would have thought of forcing himself on an already functioning team. Who was he, to disrupt such balance over self-pity ?

He had been pathetic long enough. He would try and accept his lot from now on. If it was required of him to stay on the sidelines for the Avengers to exist, well, it was a small price to pay. After all, he had had years of freedom of his own already. It was about time to be a little less selfish.

Just as he made this solemn resolution, the screen turned off and Jarvis's smooth voice rose over the sudden buzzing in his ears.

“ _If you'll excuse me, Dr. Banner – director Fury would like to know whether you will be reporting for duty today.”_

It took Bruce almost two minutes to process these words.

“It's Thursday already ?” he finally managed.

_“Indeed, doctor.”_

Bruce felt so dizzy he had to lean against the table. He was completely losing track of time. Coming round earlier, he had thought only one day had passed, but it had been one week ; and this time, he had not even felt the gap. Tony abducting him as soon as he had come round wouldn't have helped, of course. It still freaked him out.

 _Not again, Banner._ What had he just promised himself ? He had to focus.

“I – tell him I'll be there,” he called out. “I just have to sleep for a few hours.”

Jarvis's silence sounded like an agreement. Still light-headed, Bruce looked at his research and wondered if he should just throw it all away. His heart clenched at the thought, but since he had just sworn to lie low...

However, even though his resolution to step aside was strong, he knew he needed something to endure his willing isolation ; this was something he had learned from his years on the run – if you don't want to lose it, always keep a room of your own, small as it may be. His work could do the trick. Besides... He flipped the pages of the note-book again and managed a tiny smile when he realized his inventions could be more than useful to the team, as well as a way for him to let out steam. Yes, he thought with relief, he could allow himself to keep this as long as it didn't impede on anything else.

He saved his work on a single flash drive and stuffed it in his pocket along with the small notebook, then rubbed his eyes. His stubborn mind was still sluggishly planning the next steps for his research, but he was getting nowhere and shivering with exhaustion. He hoped he could catch a a few hours of sleep before he had to confront Loki again.

 

*

 

Bruce was jolted awake by his phone buzzing on the nightstand. He scrambled out of the immense, Hulk-sized bed and stared anxiously at the tiny screen. The knot in his stomach loosened when he realized it was only his alarm. He had slept five hours straight and managed to wake up on the same day he had fallen asleep, for the first time in what felt like months.

Small mercies.

 

Having slept and dressed back into his civilian clothes, he almost felt normal again when he stepped out of the Quinjet. Being outdoors was certainly helping, and it felt nice somehow to wear a shirt and slacks again – not that the SHIELD uniform was as constricting as it appeared to be, although the thick Kevlar kept making Bruce uneasy even when _he_ was the one wearing it. But mostly, it was his resolution to carry on with what would now be his daily routine which had helped him getting it back together. He probably still looked a bit worn out, but most people here had dark rings under their eyes as well.

When he stepped inside the SHIELD quarters, Nick Fury was here to greet him.

“Doctor,” he nodded. “I'm glad you could make it. It take it the gamma dampener didn't affect you.”

Bruce shook his head in confirmation, following him to the elevator.

“Is Steve going to be alright ?” he asked.

“He gave us a fright,” Fury admitted as the doors closed on them. “The real problem's Barton, though.”

Bruce's heart almost stopped. “How... what do you mean ?”

“We're worried he'll try coaxing Rogers into escaping medical.”

The doctor kept forgetting how Fury's superpower appeared to be diehard deadpanning. He exhaled silently, then gave a wan smile. “Don't scare me like that, director.”

Only when Fury raised an eyebrow at him did he realize how weird he must have sounded. Surely, people would have noticed he and Barton were not exactly best buddies ; perhaps Fury thought his concern ironic or insincere. But Bruce was not going to forbid himself to care, too. It would be impossible anyway, with his subconscious still working in the shade to make him love the Avengers a little more each time he woke up.

Besides, he remembered as the elevator doors opened, SHIELD would come to think much worse of him in the end. When the time came, perhaps the Avengers might even help him standing up against Fury.

Unless they already knew about the new Phase Two, and _agreed_ with it. The way Clint had flipped through his notes...

Bruce abruptly blocked out the idea.

 

*

 

Fury did not come out of the elevator with him, and Bruce had to walk the dim-lit hallways on his own. When he opened the door, he found Loki pinned to the steel chair like last time. The demi-god's eyes were closed as though he was dozing ; but the second Bruce stepped inside, his head _snapped_ at him in a violent startle.

The doctor was a bit taken aback, but thought wiser not to say anything. He just approached the demi-god whose blue, piercing eyes kept tracking him as he moved across the lab. He could not help noticing that Loki's entire body was taut, his fists clenching against the steel, his breathing slow but feverish as though a burning hatred was simmering in the pit of his stomach.

Bruce sat and turned on the screens, but after a while, Loki's behavior grew just impossible to ignore – the doctor's teeth were set on edge with the tension in the air.

He turned to look at him.

“Something wrong ?”

The demi-god's nostrils flared, but he stayed silent and stared so intensely at him that for a second, it seemed like he was the one studying Bruce.

The doctor did not move an inch. Loki was obviously searching his face for something ; what it was he had no idea. The thorough scan felt like it would never end, but eventually, the demi-god's wiry silhouette relaxed in the restraints. Bruce realized he had been holding his breath, and let it out silently.

“Mind telling me what was that about ?” he asked.

Loki looked pale and exhausted, but still managed to curl up his lips in a bitter smile.

“You know nothing.”

Bruce frowned slightly, trying to understand this could possibly mean. But Loki was already moving on.

“Well ?” he said, slight annoyance back in his voice, slender fingers tapping on the steel armrests. “To what pointless experiment shall I be subjected this time ?”

Bruce countered him with his own trademark smile. The demi-god would not get to him by playing cryptic, however hard he tried. On a different matter, the doctor could not help wondering whether Loki had used the word _pointless_ with full knowledge. But there was no way he was getting an answer ; it wouldn't have helped much, in any way.

“Like I said yesterday, I'm still busy processing your DNA,” he said. “Even with this kind of tech, that's a long-term research ; so I was thinking maybe we could try out some active tests in the meantime.”

Loki's eyes had narrowed again, although Bruce couldn't figure out why. The demi-god's features went back to slightly annoyed indifference almost immediately, though.

“Active tests,” he only repeated.

“Yes,” Bruce said, getting up. “Let's get down to it.”

The tests were the most innocuous he could come up with, but they still gave impressive results. Loki proved himself able to hear the lowest sounds ; his sight was undeniably better than Barton's ; and his reflexes were something else – actually verging on prescience. He was doing his best to look both contemptuous and bored to death, but Bruce could tell that to some degree, he was enjoying this. Maybe he liked to show off, or maybe he was just finding a welcome distraction in those harmless experiments.

“Well, thanks for your cooperation,” Bruce said politely after a few hours. “That's all for today.”

He had rewritten the mapping algorithm for the third time and he felt like he might be on to something since the search had not failed yet. But mostly, he felt tired again, and was hoping maybe he could catch a few extra hours of sleep before transforming. He began putting away the various pieces of equipment he had been using when he felt a change in the atmosphere – Loki's eyes were piercing his back again.

This time, he did not ask anything. He just turned and stared back.

After a while, the demi-god said : “You did it again.”

“Did what ?” Bruce said in a weary voice.

“You got the date wrong. _Like I said yesterday, I am still busy processing your DNA,”_ Loki quoted calmly.

The doctor's blood curdled, but he forced himself not to react. He turned his back to him again and resumed tidying up the lab.

“Yeah, well, I've never had a very good sense of time,” he shrugged, turning off the computer. “It's no big deal.”

“Are they letting you change only once a week ?” Loki murmured.

Bruce closed his eyes. It did not keep him from hearing the demi-god's next question, although he had lowered his voice.

“Are you a prisoner like me ?”

The doctor gathered his notes, then went to open the heavy door. The usual squad was waiting for him in the hallway, sans Fury or Barton this time.

“We're done,” he said, handing over the pages.

The team leader nodded and pushed the mysterious black button before entering the lab – not that Bruce noticed any of it.

He was doing his best not to think.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading ! Please, do let me know what you thought ^^


	5. Doubt

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bruce opened his eyes to a bare steel ceiling. He struggled not to close them back.

His body was screaming with a feeling he knew only too well – the urge to _run._ Because Loki had managed to upset him somehow, and that was sufficient reason for Bruce to get the hell away from him – he refused to even ask himself why Loki's words had been able to shake him ; he felt it would lead him on even more dangerous ground. He only knew that he was vulnerable and that it made him a liability, and he only knew one answer to this kind of problem – run away until he was absolutely certain no harm whichever would come from him.

But of course, he could not get away. He needed to be here so he could keep the research under control – so he could keep the _results_ of the research under control. He needed the top-class lab if he wanted to develop his own tech – if he wanted to make himself at least slightly useful to the Avengers. Mainly, he needed to be there, because people needed the Hulk around.

Also, he _literally_ could not get away. Last week, he had changed as soon as he had stepped out of the elevator ; and now, only twenty conscious minutes after leaving Loki, he was going to face him again. There was no way out of the loop. When he had promised never to try and impose himself on the Avengers again, he was conscious that his world had just narrowed down to SHIELD's underground lab. He was conscious he was locking himself up with only Loki for company for an indeterminate period of time.

It didn't make it any easier.

“Doctor Banner ?” a SHIELD agent asked on his right.

He closed back his eyes. He had to do this. He had promised. He had no choice.

“I'm coming,” he answered, and sat up.

 

*

 

This time, Loki did not startle when the doctor pushed the door.

He just kept staring at the opposite wall. For all his own gnawing anxiety, Bruce instantly noticed something was off with him. The demi-god had always been pale, but now he looked just bloodless, as white as the whites of his wide open eyes. He did not move a muscle as the doctor approached. Only when Bruce was within two meters of the steel chair did Loki react, turning his head to look at him with a blank, haunted stare, as though he did not remember who he was.

“Are you alright ?” Bruce said, because it seemed like the thing to ask. Even for a mass murderer, the demi-god looked positively grim and unhealthy.

Loki stared at him for another, tense minute, then relaxed ever so slightly in his cold restraints as though he had woken up from a dreadful vision. It was nothing like last time, though. He had not been able to put back on his mask of carelessness ; he only looked a slightly bit further from the edge of traumatized. Bruce was thrown off balance. He had entered the lab steeling himself for an insidious attack, and instead it was Loki he found vulnerable and shaken.

The demi-god was still himself, though – too stubborn and haughty to even acknowledge the concern of a mortal. He spoke in a halting voice, as though he was just getting his breath back in spasms.

“What – will be happening – today ?”

Bruce did not even take the time to think about it. “Nothing.”

Loki glanced up at him, his face still about a hundred shades too pale. It did not _feel_ right for him to look like this. Of course, he had been reduced to an object of trade ; he had spent weeks locked in an underground cell with hardly any hope of seeing the sun ever again ; he knew that SHIELD could do about anything they wanted to him. But this was the god who had taken on the Avengers by himself. This was the god who had literally been through oblivion and back.

And until then, he had indeed managed to keep up his mocking, superior façade. So why would he snap now ?

Bruce had no idea, and did not expect Loki to walk him through his inward thoughts. He only knew that he was _not_ adding forced experiments on top of what already looked like an unbearable burden. He had enough on his plate with the DNA mapping anyway.

“Nothing,” he repeated, aiming for casualty – and maybe missing by a few inches. “The third algorithm has not reached its limits yet. So there's nothing to do but let the program run for now.”

The lie was so obvious it seemed to tone Loki's stress down a little – out of humiliation rather than gratitude, Bruce supposed. The demi-god himself probably had a thousand experiments in mind the doctor could conduct on him while otherwise decoding his genes. But he did not offer any of them as a sarcasm, and it confirmed Bruce in his resolution to let him off the hook for today.

“Why are you even here, then ?” Loki asked, gradually coming back to his usual self.

Bruce smiled and sat down at the computer.

“Well, you might not realize it, but that's a pretty unique lab,” he said. “Even Stark Tower's second best next to that. And I've got a few projects of my own ; so I'll just work on it while you rest.”

The demi-god scowled at him. Yes, he was definitely improving.

“You expect me to rest in a steel chair ?”

“Better than a steel table,” Bruce shrugged, turning away before he could see Loki's undoubtedly outraged expression.

He opened his notebook, plugged his flash drive ; and when his research blinked on on the screen, for a blessed moment, it felt like home. Even Loki's inquiring eyes could not shake off his pleasure – the demi-god was obviously a lot more curious when Bruce was not describing out loud everything he was doing. He did not deign asking questions, though ; and the doctor quickly forgot even his presence as he blissfully buried himself in work.

 

Thanks to the truly cutting-edge equipment and resources he had access to, he managed to end up with his very first prototype after nearly half a day of hard work – just the realization part, really, since the tech was already set out on paper.

Bruce could not help smiling when the little screen blinked to life. It looked very much like a crappy mp3 player. It was really a miniature computer which probably could not even support flash games – since its strength was concentrated on wirelessly absorbing other systems, deflecting counter-attacks and tracking signals, and detecting about everything which might pose a threat, ranging from life to electricity, including radiation, of course. Oh, and also it was meant to control the next invention Bruce had in mind, an electromagnetic shield which could come in handy to Clint – or Natasha, or even Steve if he insisted on throwing away his only weapon during battle, like he always –

Bruce tore himself from his train of thoughts like a man surfacing to breathe. He was getting carried away. He was just working for the Avengers in his free time, nothing more. This was _not_ a way to become a part of it.

Being able to look forward to a meeting, where he would expose his ideas to them, still felt like a lungful of air. Well, it was just a confirmation that he had been right not to toss his ideas in the garbage. He looked at the little computer and without him even realizing it, the Avengers invaded his thoughts again. Tony Stark, he mused, would have made it smooth and shining at the edges ; in Bruce's hands it looked rather dull and unimpressive. But as much as he was able to enjoy the finished-off products of Stark Industries – he could have spent a lifetime drooling over the armor alone – he preferred to focus on what was on the inside when it came to his own tech. He had probably lost the ability to care about appearances along the way. The small computer satisfied him, if only because it represented a palpable step forward.

Loki shifted a little in his restraints – and Bruce suddenly remembered he was here. He looked up to find the demi-god looking much better than the pale ghost in steel harness he had found earlier. He had rested indeed, however uncomfortable his chair really was.

“I'm sorry,” Bruce blinked, almost surprised to see him. “I, uh, kind of forgot about you.”

“So I gathered,” Loki answered in a voice so conceited it sounded like the offense itself was not worthy of his concern.

“Well,” the doctor mumbled, raising his eyebrows. “Glad to see you're back to your cheerful self.”

The demi-god made such an abysmally unimpressed face that it almost got a chuckle out of Bruce. Almost instantly, the feeling set him off. The fact that his first laugh in months had come from Loki of all people was just too disturbing.

He cleared his throat. “Okay, I'll just... test this thing, then you can go back to your cell.”

He pressed the small button in the middle, directing the hacking at the only target he had at hand – the SHIELD network itself – and two things happened at the same time. First, Loki startled violently as his tension inexplicably but obviously hit the roof again ; secondly, the tiny computer made _ridiculously_ short work of SHIELD's entire database despite the layers and layers of security, chomping its way through every barrier to come unstuck only against _Bruce's_ own mapping algorithm.

Absolutely gobsmacked, the doctor gaped at the low-resolution screen, spinning his thumb around the click wheel to scroll down data. He could not believe it at first, but the files names in tiny black letters did not waver before his eyes. God – had he just brought SHIELD to its knees in _1.3 seconds ?_

Yes he had.

He looked up haphazardly and saw Loki staring at him in obvious displeasure with his jaw clenched, as though Bruce had pranked him by popping a balloon next to his ear or something. Just as it finally occurred to him to wonder exactly _why_ the demi-god had reacted like this, someone banged loudly on the door, causing them both to startle.

After a second of confusion, Bruce decided to conceal the miniature computer in a drawer, because there was no way he was explaining how and why he had hacked into SHIELD even faster than Tony Stark himself. Loki did not understood his guilty behavior – or did not notice it. He was too busy staring at the door as though he could pierce a hole in it, and there was definitely something wrong with him, but Bruce was not sure if he wanted to know or if he even cared.

So he just went to open the door – and found himself face-to-face with Clint.

Before he could as much as formulate a thought, an unstoppable wave of joy and fondness crashed through him with the force of a small tsunami, leaving him breathless and speechless and torn between his conscious and subconscious memories yet again – because Barton for one did _not_ seem happy to see him, on either conscious or subconscious levels.

“Banner, what the _hell ?”_ he barked. “You've been in here for _twelve hours !”_

Bruce blinked, his inner turmoil still too loud for his brain to compute. The discrepancy between the friendly, playful Clint his brain expected to see and the archer's harsh behavior was just too gaping.

“I... sorry,” he stammered eventually, starting to search his pockets for his phone. “Did you try to call me ? I lost track of time.”

“Yeah, it does seem to happen to you a lot,” the archer scoffed just as Bruce finally found the thing – and remembered he was in an underground SHIELD base, which meant no network.

Clint gave an exasperated sigh.

“It's alright,” he said eventually, putting an end to Bruce's fumbling. “There's no emergency. Fury sent me to fish you out – and I think Steve wanted a word, too. Where are your notes ?”

Bruce felt himself blushing, the miniature computer a guilty weight in his mind – then he widened his eyes when Steve's name triggered a sudden realization. Clint. Clint on his _feet._

“You're out of medical.”

“What ?” Clint said nervously. “Oh. Yeah, I've been back in the field for three days now. Where are your notes ?” he repeated.

“I don't have any notes.”

Barton would have obviously snapped at him again if not for biochemistry not really being his field of expertise. He only frowned at Bruce with unsure eyes.

“How come ?”

“I kept running the DNA mapping algorithm,” Bruce explained. “It's time-consuming but doesn't make for very tangible results, I'm afraid.”

It was the honest truth. Barton nodded sharply, his anger apparently under better control ; but he was still uncannily tense. Bruce suddenly understood Loki's closeness must set him on edge. He almost apologized again for lingering in the doorframe like an idiot.

“Uh – you can call in the squad,” he said quickly, shrugging off his lab coat. “I'm done.”

But before he had completely stepped out of the lab, a cold, smooth voice suddenly rooted them both to the spot, echoing from the inside of the room.

“Till next time, agent Barton.”

Clint tensed as though someone had stung him and slammed the door shut behind Bruce.

“Bastard,” he mumbled under his breath.

The doctor thought wiser not to say anything. He followed him to the elevator, sliding the shiny black phone back in his pocket.

 

*

 

Clint was watching Banner in the corner of his eye. Now that he had taken off the white coat, the doctor just looked awkward in his black combat gear. He was lean and fit enough, but he was obviously not a field agent. The fact that he was currently staring at the floor did not help a bit.

“How do you do it ?” Clint blurted out before he knew he was going to speak.

Banner looked at him absently. The haze in his brown eyes cleared up when he realized he had actually been asked something.

“I'm – sorry, what ?”

The archer let out an silent but exasperated sigh, visible only through the faint movement of his ribcage. Banner obviously liked his research more than he liked people ; even though Clint himself knew all about being taciturn, it still irritated him. They were alone in an _elevator,_ for crying out loud.

“How do you spend twelve hours with Loki without going crazy ?” he developed.

Something appeared to shut down in Banner's expression. He lowered his gaze again and smiled wryly at the floor.

“He's not that unnerving,” he mumbled.

He hesitated for a second, then murmured, “I think... I think he knows he doesn't have much hope left.”

“That's my point,” Clint countered. “He should bite and scratch all the more.”

Banner huffed a mirthless laugh. “That's not how desperation works.”

He sounded very tired all of a sudden.

The archer frowned. He opened his mouth without really knowing what he was about to say, but then the elevator doors opened on Nick Fury and Clint's military instinct made him stand at attention, although he was not really working for SHIELD anymore.

“ _There_ you are,” Fury said, turning briskly as though he had been pacing the hall waiting for them – which was very likely, the director being more restless than... well, a caged alien. “I wanted to talk to you about your work, Dr. Banner.”

Banner slightly but unmistakably tensed up next to Clint. When he spoke, his voice was soft and polite as usual, but there was a diamond-hard undertone which had not quite been there during their conversation in the elevator.

“Sure,” he said carefully. “What do you want to know ?

“I want to know your _point,”_ Fury snapped. “Those reports you've been filling are getting nowhere.”

Clint glanced sideways at Banner, who just kept smiling. “Maybe you should tell me what _you_ want, director. So far, I've only been told to study him. I figured mapping his DNA was as good a start as any.”

Fury looked like he was trying not to speak his mind too bluntly – then again, he always looked like that.

“And what about those active tests ?” he said. “Doctor – do you realize Loki can easily mess with this kind of data ?”

“ _Active tests ?”_ Clint repeated, trying to convey exactly what he thought of Banner's sanity in one glance.

The doctor just looked strangely glad this was news to him. Maybe he just liked telling people about his research, like about all crazy scientists Clint had met.

“Yes,” he said. “I've been testing his reflexes and senses, mostly. Trying to find out how low a sound he could hear, this kind of thing.”

“And it never occurred to you he might be answering at random ?” Fury groaned.

“Yes, of course,” the doctor shrugged. “But he got the highest results everywhere. You can fake failure ; you can't fake success.”

Fury gritted his teeth and glared at Banner, whose thin smile did not waver. The archer could not help giving a smirk of his own – not many people could stand up to Fury and stay cool as a cucumber all the while. He didn't like Banner and Banner didn't like him, but it was always fun to watch someone drive Fury up the wall. The director was obviously seething, but he appeared unable to answer the doctor's too valid point.

“We'll talk about this again later,” he finally said before turning away.

The edges of Banner's smile lost their sharpness as the director strode out of the hall. He stared in space for a second, then seemed to shake himself up and turned to Clint.

“Steve wanted a word, then ?”

“Uh – yeah,” Clint said, his eyes still fixed on Fury.

“Okay,” Banner murmured. “Let me just... let me just do this outside.”

He pushed the reinforced glass door and stepped out of the building before Clint could stop him – not that he would have, anyway. He was pretty sure Steve wanted to see Hulk to discuss strategies ; if Banner didn't feel like shaking hands with their injured team leader beforehand, Clint wasn't going to force him. The doctor could damn well do what he wanted.

For some unfathomable reason, he still grew uneasy watching Banner take a few steps in the last beams of the setting sun, then lift his gaze to stare at the orange sky. The doctor stayed like this for a few moments, cold wind ruffling his curled hair.

Then in a matter of seconds, he was gone and a much bigger, much friendlier silhouette was turning to grin at Clint. The archer returned the smile ; but the inexplicable knot in his stomach had not quite disappeared.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, tell me what you thought ^^ And as always, thank you for reading !


	6. Fracture

 

 

 

 

 

 

This was really routine now.

Waking up in the small steel cell, trying to stall as much as he could so the subconscious memories of the past week could have the time to sink in. Getting up, following whoever was on duty to the elevator. Getting out, walking alone to the lab, and then –

Bruce stopped in front of the steel door.

He could not open it.

For a second, he could not untangle the knot of his own emotions. Something was stopping him from entering the lab, and he was unable to make out what exactly. Something to do with the Avengers and Loki both. Something to do with his own –

– loneliness.

He closed his eyes with a sigh. Sure, he was lonely. So what ? It was by no means new to him. Why should it scare him away now ?

The answer was so obvious it was not even funny. Vulnerable as he was now, Loki reminded him too much of himself. Those haunted eyes looked like other eyes – brown, sometimes green, terrified eyes he had seen reflected in the polished walls of an adamantium cell, years ago. If the demi-god's state kept growing worse each time they met, Bruce would not be able to help pitying him. He would end up asking him to explain exactly what was wrong. He would end up feeling _empathetic_ towards him.

And it was painfully clear why no sane person should ever allow his only conscious, positive emotions to be directed at Loki Laufeyson.

Even worse, it might all be part of Loki's plan. Bruce could not know for certain whether he was above faking weakness to earn pity, unlikely as it sounded coming from such a haughty soul. Anyway, fake or not, it was _working._ The doctor felt like he was between a rock and hard place, and the feeling should not have been so familiar. Sure, he had been through a lot but there had always been an escape route before – quite literally most of the time...

For the second time in two days – or two weeks – he seriously asked himself if he ought to run. Pack a bag and fly back to Brazil. Maybe even further this time, Chile or Argentina. There were a hundred good reasons for him to stay, but they could never compete with one very good reason for him to leave. The same reason as ever.

_Did I hurt anyone ?_

Never, ever, _ever_ let the answer to that question be _yes._

He took a deep breath. Whatever his final choice turned out to be, he was not going to decide himself by staring at a steel door. Besides, he was not driven up against the wall just yet, was he ?

He put his hand on the scanner, if only to prove himself that indeed he was not.

 

Of course, his worse premonitions just _had_ to come true.

Loki did not react at all to the door unlocking. He was breathing slowly, deeply, with his head bowed, although he was clearly not asleep. His face was chalk-pale just like last time, and locks of black hair were dangling above his knees. He was slightly shivering at times, as though his body was so drained out it could not keep itself warm. His hands were clenched on the armrests, his limbs and chest straining against the unmovable restraints as if he was trying to curl up on himself. He looked like he was gathering his strength between two sessions of torture.

 _Wait – wait – just wait._ Bruce took a deep breath himself and tried to reason with his own thoughts, because – _torture ?_ If he was already beginning to assume things like this, he might just as well set fire to SHIELD now and kill a few agents at random for good measure. He could not afford to doubt them. Sure, he was working against them already making a completely useless study of their resident alien, but he was not their _enemy._ He was trying hard not to be.

He could _not_ afford to doubt them. Not on this scale.

This meant he had to know for sure _now,_ and there was a very obvious solution sitting right in front of him.

He finally stepped inside and moved across the room. Loki did not even flinch when the heavy door slammed back. Bruce licked his lips, then sat before the computer and checked the progression of the DNA mapping. It had failed again, meaning he would have to rewrite the algorithm for the fourth time. It was like walking into a dark cave ; he could only know where the walls were by bumping into them. But it would have to wait – first he needed to see for himself whether someone had been tampering with the object of his study behind his back.

He needed a convenient excuse to see his body. There had to be a stethoscope somewhere ; he dug through several drawers before finally finding one – right next to his miniature computer. He had almost forgotten about it. He stuffed the thing in his pocket, then grabbed the stethoscope and drew a chair next to the slumping demi-god.

“Hey,” he said, not too loud. “Can you look at me ?”

For a long moment, it seemed like Loki had not even heard him. Finally, he raised his head in a painful movement, his tendons sticking out as though it weighed a ton, and set his sharp eyes on Bruce. The doctor smiled briefly at him, then reached out and opened Loki's tunic down to the waist. The demi-god grew taut as a bowstring under his fingers – but Bruce barely registered it over the sight of Loki's bared skin.

It was absolutely _spotless._

Pale and marble-like, but without a single mark, not even an old scar or a faint bruise.

Bruce mechanically placed the stethoscope against the demi-god's chest to pretend he was listening to his heartbeat, but inside he felt overwhelmed with relief. He had been stupid, over-thinking things again – the habit of chaos, although it was not an excuse. Of course Loki was unharmed. _Bruce_ was the one SHIELD had put in charge of the experiments, and he certainly was not the cause of Loki's mysterious decay over time – or so he hoped, anyway.

“What are you doing ?” Loki murmured in a tense, cracked voice.

Bruce pulled away.

“Just checking something,” he said, popping the stethoscope out of his ears. “It's all good.”

Except it was obviously not. As soon as Bruce stopped touching him, the demi-god dropped back his head, shivering, still looking as if he was about to fall apart. He swallowed thickly and exhaled – only then did the doctor notice he had been holding his breath the whole time.

He _almost_ made a move toward him – and his own impulse frightened him. Because since neither SHIELD nor Bruce were mistreating the Asgardian, it meant he was indeed faking it. And it meant Bruce Banner was falling for it even though he _knew_ Loki's suffering not to be real.

He had to get away from him at the very least.

“Well,” he mumbled, getting up. “I'm going.”

Loki startled faintly and blurted out, “Already ?”

He instantly flinched as though he had not meant to say this. Bruce's heart began to pound in his ears. It sounded too real. He really must leave now, before he could ask himself what it could possibly mean if Loki's little slip just now has really been sincere.

He turned off the computer then quickly went back to the dark hallways, grabbing a SHIELD agent on his way to notify he was done for today before making his was back to the light.

He had not quite caught his breath yet.

 

*

 

Steve jolted awake, drenched in sweat under the sheets and breathing like mad with his heart hammering against his ribs.

“Peggy ?” he stammered blearily.

But before anyone answered him, he knew it was not real. The air tasted different, thicker, _smoother,_ stupid as it may sound. The silence was different too, and the bed too soft under his weight.

“ _Captain,”_ Jarvis said, his elegant voice barely audible. _“It is the year 2012 and you are currently sta_ _ying on the 29_ _th_ _floor of – ”_

“ – Stark Tower,” Steve said wearily with him, sitting up. “Thank you, Jarvis.”

“ _You're welcome,”_ the AI whispered, with maybe a imperceptible hint of sympathy in his metallic voice.

Steve sighed heavily, then rubbed his face with both hands. Well, there went his night. Funny how he only managed to sleep soundly enough after a battle. He did not really want to know what it said about him.

He got up and realized he was starving. He always was, more or less, except when Tony decided he would take on the challenge and ordered enough food for Steve, Thor _and_ Hulk. He smiled slightly at the reminder and opened his door as silently as he could.

On his way to the kitchen, a faint movement in the shadows stopped him dead in his tracks. There was someone by the window ; a male, human silhouette, but it was not Tony nor Clint.

It was –

“Doc ?”

Banner froze like a deer in the headlights. After a second, he turned to face him. He had been standing in the dark looking out the immense windows, and the orange lights of the city silhouetted him against the glass, leaving his face in the shadows.

“Steve,” he murmured with mild surprise. “Sorry – I didn't mean to wake you up.”

“You didn't,” the super-soldier said, honestly surprised himself. “What are you doing here ? I mean – weren't you at SHIELD quarters ? It's Thursday, right ?”

A brief flash of light from down the streets illuminated Banner's slight, wry smile.

“Well... not anymore, I guess,” he said. “Time flies.”

Steve gave a bitter smile at himself.

“I came back to work here,” Banner explained. “It's just pure math these days, so I – I figured I could use Tony's spare lab. It's nicer.”

“Yeah, I bet it is,” Steve admitted.

The doctor visibly relaxed a little. Steve had not really noticed how tense he was until now.

“I'm glad to see you recovered,” Banner went on in his soft voice. “That was quick, wasn't it ?”

“Not really,” Steve snapped.

He was getting tired of people wondering at the serum without thinking for a second about its after-effects. It was still painful getting hurt, it was still frustrating getting slowly better – that part would always be too slow – and it was still dreadful to wake up not knowing whether he had slept for seventy years again. When Banner nodded a bit sheepishly, though, Steve regretted his dryness.

“It's fine,” he sighed before the doctor could apologize. “Sometimes it's, it's just a bit – ”

“Overwhelming,” the doctor murmured.

“Yeah,” the super-soldier went on without realizing Banner had finished his sentence. “I just wake up and I'm – I still don't know what year it is for a second. What's real and what's not.”

The doctor nodded in earnest in the dark, and Steve flushed slightly when he realized he had just spoken his mind without thinking. He had never said this to anyone – what was he doing, dumping it all on Banner of all people ?

“Wow. Uh, sorry,” he mumbled. “Didn't mean to blurt it out like that. I guess I'm still half-asleep.”

“No, it's – it's alright,” Banner murmured. “I... I understand, really.”

For a second, Steve thought he sounded weird – _shaky –_ but no, of course not. His voice was soft and distant as usual. Steve felt even more embarrassed at the thought of having confided in him like a teenager.

“Sorry,” he repeated. “I'll just grab a snack and go. By the way, Hulk's expected at the meeting tomorrow – Latveria's being pretty agitated lately.”

“Sure,” Banner murmured after a second, but Steve was already striding out towards the kitchen, blessing the darkness for hiding how red his ears must be.

 

*

 

And one week later, Bruce found himself staring at the door of SHIELD's lab again.

 

It was starting to feel as though he was being teleported back there every time, as though time itself was flickering. No way out of the loop. He had told himself that already, but the thought was still bearable at the time. Now, he just felt with every fiber of his being that he ought _not_ to go in there.

He had a good reason to do this. He knew he had. What was it again ? Keeping SHIELD from experimenting on sentient beings, keeping them from making a weapon out of Loki. But as it turned out, they were not. Bruce was the only danger here, because he was letting the demi-god get to him.

He took a deep breath and braced himself. People were counting on him. He would not run away again.

The door unlocked under his hand.

 

It was worse, and it was better, because this time Loki was simply unconscious. He was hanging limp in the steel chair, kept up only by his restraints, his breath so faint it was inaudible.

With a mix of unease and guilty relief, Bruce quickly checked his fourth algorithm without trying to wake him. The math had not failed him yet, so he went back to his own research. This time, he could not quite forget the demi-god was there, though ; even though Loki really had never been that quiet.

So quiet that when he spoke in a murmur hours later, Bruce did not even jump.

“Did you finish it ?”

The doctor looked down at the small device. He was done indeed. The shield could easily fit in his pocket ; it would draw energy from the very gamma radiation he kept storing in his body, and convert it into an unbreakable force field. It was a useless prototype, really, since he was the only one who could use it. He was vaguely thinking of a way to build another one so it would project the radiation like a laser beam – maybe something like a taser or a stun gun... But what was the point, if he remained the only one to –

Loki. Loki had just said something.

He looked up and found the demi-god staring at him with his eyes ajar. Bruce was somehow too far away to feel wary of him, though. Loki was not looking very menacing anyway.

“Were you awake all that time ?” the doctor asked.

“I was watching you,” Loki said quietly.

There was a silence. The demi-god straightened up a little, his fists clenching briefly on the armrests.

“They do let you out only once a week,” he added in a low voice.

Bruce said nothing.

Loki closed his eyes again.

“You and I should talk.”

The doctor smiled a thin, uncertain smile, and went back to his work.

“I'd rather not talk with you.”

“Why not ?” Loki said in a distant voice, his eyes still shut.

After a few minutes of silence, he opened them again.

“You're loyal to them,” he said softly. “But they have done nothing to earn it. I can see you shriveling as weeks go by. Why are you letting this happen ?”

So here it was after all – Loki really was trying to corrupt him. Bruce should have felt amused, perhaps disappointed at such a hackneyed ploy. Instead, he found himself doing his best to shield himself against his words.

Why ? It made no sense. Now that the demi-god had somehow disclosed his own ruse, there could be no possible danger in listening to him. He was not making any _valid_ points. It was just a trick.

“You said you were no prisoner,” the demi-god murmured – although Bruce did not remember ever saying that, come to think of it. “But what is the difference ? Like me, you are locked inside this metal room. Like me, you are nothing out of it. In truth, we only have each other.”

“Don't bother,” Bruce mumbled.

“Banner,” Loki snapped, dry and tired. “I am not enough of a fool to try and trick you. You are a clever man, and you know who I am.”

Bruce shot him a guarded, incisive glance.

“I know you're a liar.”

“Precisely,” Loki said. “Which is why I do not lie to you.”

It was almost believable. His voice sounded nothing like the syrupy, coaxing tone he had used to taunt them from the glass cage, back on the Helicarrier. It sounded just... weary. Rueful. Hollow, like Bruce felt. It scared him so deeply he had to retort.

“ _Not_ lying ?” he smiled, although his heart was a bit too loud in his ears. “You've been trying to make me feel sorry for you since day one.”

Loki was left speechless for a second ; then he gave a brief, silent chuckle, nothing more than a jump of his clavicles. But he did not answer Bruce's comment.

“What are you trying to do, anyway ?” the doctor said, suddenly tired with his own tip-toeing.

Loki gave a wan, somehow apologetic smile. “You are the only hope I have.”

His frankness was so absurd Bruce huffed a nervous laugh. “Oh, thanks. Very honest. You're not gonna lie to me, yet you still hope to get me on your side somehow ?”

“Somehow,” Loki said, closing his eyes again and leaning back against the steel. “You are right. It is a foolish plan.”

A long silence stretched between them. Bruce had actually finished his electro-magnetic shield a while ago, but felt like he was stuck to his chair. He could only look at his finished invention. The sight stirred up no pride in him this time.

Loki spoke again.

“I did not believe you that first day.”

Bruce could not help glancing up at him again. Loki was now staring at the ceiling, exactly like that same day he was talking about.

“About not crossing the line ?” Bruce asked.

“About the beast being everyone's favorite.”

The doctor went completely still.

Loki looked at him, his gaze distant and sad.

“What do you intend to do about it ?” he murmured as though he really cared.

Bruce smiled, because he was _not_ slipping away from the demi-god.

“Nothing,” he shrugged. “That's what I always wanted.”

“Is it ?” Loki murmured with shrewd eyes.

Bruce sat transfixed for another minute.

Then he stood up, turned off the computer, and left.

 

*

 

Sadly – _no way out of the loop,_ he remembered wearily as he opened his eyes.

Once again, this damn steel cell. He knew it was a matter of security, but would it have killed SHIELD to make it just a bit nicer ? Or to call him back while he was still in the hall, so he could at the very least see a bit of blue sky before he went to bury himself under the ground ?

He felt like he had not seen the sky in months. He felt like he had been wearing this black battle-gear for months. And now it _did_ feel constricting, chafing, suffocating like a Kevlar harness, like he was the one SHIELD kept prisoner for study. Like he was back on the steel table himself.

He screwed his eyes shut. Nothing good lay that way. He tried to think of the Avengers, of Clint, Tony, Steve, Natasha, even Thor, waiting for the wave of sourceless well-being even though he knew how pathetic it was – but it only made it even worse. Because the Hulk outright _lo_ _ved_ them now. He was unbelievably joyful, radiating pure glee in the back of the doctor's mind and it was so much worse than anger. Because the anger had still been Bruce's somehow, while this happiness stayed  _just_ on the edge of his reach. His subconscious kept telling him he should be carefree ; yet he was deeply, painfully unhappy. This was the worst kind of gap, even worse than the weeks turning into days and seeping out like sand in an hourglass. It was a physical suffering, as though he was being torn in two, and his eyes were burning and again he could not breathe and he was _not_ going back not this time he had to leave he needed to get out to get _away –_

He pushed back the man leaning over him and mumbled a vague excuse before striding out of the room. As soon as he was outside, he hitched a ride in a Quinjet leaving to Stark Tower and sat with a hand on his face, his breathing deep and shaky.

Only half-way through the journey did he come to his senses, and realize the man next to his bed had been Clint Barton.

 _Well, it's not like things weren't already ruined,_ he thought ruefully. He was not even sure of what he was doing right now, getting out as soon as the Quinjet had landed on the roof ; and he only understood his own intentions when he walked automatically to Tony's secondary lab, locked the door behind him and plugged in his flash drive.

But even his research only made things worse. Now that he could rely on both his miniature computer and his electro-magnetic shield to help him work, things were going even faster. In a matter of hours, he had finished the taser. He had wanted to make a rather ordinary weapon, except for the fact that it would have used Bruce's own and rather inexhaustible power to fire ; but he had settled for a more experimental thing, drawing its power directly from the source of Hulk's own strength – the planet's energy itself. Bruce was not really sure how powerful a weapon it was.

And this more than anything proved him that he had gone off his track. He had created a weapon he might not be able to control. If he had grown careless enough to make _this_ sort of mistakes again, then the alarm was off and he had to react before everything spun completely out of control.

In other words – he had to run away.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading ! I'd really like to know what you thought, do leave a comment. :)


	7. Chasm

 

 

 

 

 

 

Funny how fast the instincts of the fugitive settled back in, as though they had never disappeared really, just waited under the thin veil of Bruce's now lost hopes. He _had_ made the wrong call that day – staying in New York as though he could have magically erased his sad parody of a past. He had lost any claim to leading a normal life the day of the accident, and should never, _ever_ let himself forget it again.

For now, he was standing in the Hulk's room, looking around with quick glances as his thoughts ran fast in his head. On his shoulder was slung a brown canvas bag, in which he had stuffed the miniature computer, the shield, and the taser. He would destroy them all as soon as he had the chance – and the time. Right now, he had to make the most of his situation.

He looked out the window at the already darkening sky. The fact that he had decided to leave did not mean people _knew_ about it, and this was what he must keep in mind right now. Although he could not help being tense and already too high on adrenalin, nobody was actually chasing him – yet. If he could have just left the Hulk behind, everything would have been fine in the best of all possible worlds. No one would have bothered running after only him ; but he did not doubt for a second SHIELD and probably the Avengers would come after the Hulk as soon as they realized what had happened ; he was, after all, their biggest asset. It tore a thin smile out of him, because hey, his plan _was_ an outstanding success after all.

It still resulted in him running away from Hulk hunters. Back to square one. _No way out of the loop, Banner._

He sighed and rubbed his temples. It was pointless trying to figure out what he could have possibly left behind in Stark Tower, seeing how he had hardly spent any time there at all. No, the only tracks he had to cover were the ones he had left at SHIELD. Luckily, since he had thoroughly hacked them somewhat by chance, he could erase it all from here ; he would not have to go back there and risk coming across Clint Barton.

 _Clint._ Even now, he could have kicked himself for pushing him away without even recognizing him. Perhaps the archer had been talking to him, asking him what was wrong, and Bruce hadn't even...

He let out a breath. _Useless wandering. Focus, focus._

Loki was his real problem, of course – the only thing that kept him from vanishing into thin air right now, and Bruce hated so much what it was saying about his life that he forced himself to move on. As a matter of fact, he was still responsible for him somehow. If he wanted to be able to sleep at night, he should at the very least cancel his entire research from the database. Even though his algorithms had gotten him nowhere yet, he might as well have SHIELD start it all over again. It would buy the demi-god some time, at the very least. Afterwards... well, he could not possibly know what would happen next to Loki ; but in the end, it was from _him_ Bruce was running, really. There was only so much he could do.

 _Okay._ He sat on the immense bed and took out his miniature computer. He just had to find the results, erase them all, then he was in the wind. He had vaguely mapped out a route out of New York in his mind already. Whatever happened next would be the easy part. The hardest part was – clicking on that button.

Bruce stared at his reflection in the tiny black screen. Was he really doing this ? Leaving everything behind, once again ? Everything he had fought for ?

There was a cold, smooth voice in his ear. _Are you a prisoner like me ?_

He huffed a sad laugh. He was too weak. Not even strong enough to resist the blatant mind-games of a defeated enemy. And even worse, there was still this repulsive, despicable thought inside him, that if he left this place – left his friends and the people who counted on the Hulk to protect them – weeks would turn back into days again. He was weak, and he was a selfish coward. He did not deserve any of it in the first place.

He pressed the small button and the screen blinked on.

 

*

 

“Hey – Hill ! Maria, wait.”

“I'm on a schedule, Barton” she replied coldly without stopping. “And I'm on duty as well – it's _agent Hill_ to you.”

“Have I _ever_ called you that ?” he grinned, walking with her. “C'mon, spare me a second ?”

“Make it quick.”

“Copy that, Hill. One word – Banner, have you seen him ?”

Maria Hill actually stopped in the middle of the hallway to stare at him.

“You _lost_ him ?”

“No,” Clint said defiantly. “I was never keeping watch in the first place. The guy's doing just fine on his own.”

Hill did not say anything, but her nostrils flared. The archer knew she had never quite came round to trusting the Hulk. Too bad Fury was the one in charge now.

“Then what's the problem ?” she said briskly, striding down the corridor again.

“He's been acting weird. He missed the weekly lab session” he explained, following quickly after her. “Loki had to be brought back to his cell.”

“Still not hearing a question.”

“You didn't see him, did you ?”

“I saw him,” she finally admitted. “He climbed in a Quinjet a few hours ago.”

Clint stopped, even though she didn't.

“You're telling me he just got bored and went back to Stark Tower ?” he called.

“How would I know, Barton ?” she retorted, walking away. “He's not _my_ friend.”

“He's not my friend either,” the archer grumbled, but Hill was gone.

He stayed there for a few minutes, not caring about the fact that he was in the way of SHIELD agents rushing about like busy ants. Banner's strange behavior kept itching at him.

Hell, he was in for an unpleasant moment, but he would get his answer even if he meant he had to ask the doctor himself. Something here wasn't feeling right. He strode out of the HQ, hoping there was a Quinjet leaving – fun as it may be, hijacking one for personal use wasn't really worth its weight in paperwork in the end.

 

*

 

Once again, Bruce entered SHIELD's database with frankly insulting ease. He swept laboriously through the files, his thumb circling the click wheel. It wouldn't hurt to make it more practical, he though absently – then remembered he had planned to destroy it as soon as he was in the clear. Loki's name had finally appeared on the screen anyway, a small folder which contained a single text file.

And _dozens_ of videos.

Bruce frowned, scrolling slowly down the list. He went back to the first item – the DNA mapping algorithms, of course – and canceled it permanently. He probably ought to suppress the security footage too, but why so many files ? He had only went through... god, only _six_ lab sessions with Loki. Plus a few others trying to figure out the DNA mapping in Tony's secondary lab. And the last one, the one he had missed today. There should have been only a few videos in this folder, really.

The first six ones were all labeled _Banner – 001_ , _Banner – 002_ and so on, with the date and time following. Bruce opened the first one, narrowing his eyes at the tiny screen. It was that first time alright, with Loki pinned to the surgery table in his paper gown. He skipped through the video until he realized it did not stop with him leaving. He squinted even more, concentrating on the screen which painted his face in pale blue in the now complete dark.

His image had left the screen, and Loki was still lying on the steel table. Nothing happened for a moment or so. Then suddenly, he convulsed and _arched_ back so violently he would have broken his spine if not for the restraints keeping him down ; a moment later, his whole body snapped down and he went limp on the steel surface. It had all happened in a second.

“What ?” Bruce murmured, trying to see better.

 _“Dr. Banner,”_ Jarvis intervened, startling him. _“If I may offer my services ?”_

An immense screen embedded in the wall facing him switched on. Two words blinked anxiously on the computer's small screen – _deny access ?_

Bruce swallowed, then pressed “no” and the security footage was instantly displayed two hundred times bigger before his eyes. Jarvis might even have improved the quality, although he could not tell for sure.

“Okay, thanks,” he said. “Play that again, please ?”

This time, there was no mistaking the brief look of agony on Loki's face as a spasm ran through him, so powerful it rendered him unconscious. The next moment, a SHIELD squad was entering the lab to retrieve him – and the video stopped there.

Bruce felt his stomach heaving with nausea.

“Play them all,” he breathed. “The first six ones, only the last minutes.”

It happened each time. Bruce Banner onscreen was leaving the lab, and moments later, Loki onscreen arched in his chair with a soundless scowl of pain, then blacked out. In the fourth or fifth video, Bruce thought he had seen his lips form words.

“Here,” he murmured to himself. “What is he saying ?”

“ _I have a 82% success rate reading lips,”_ Jarvis chimed in again. _“Would you like me to attempt an interpretation ?”_

“Yes,” Bruce breathed.

 _“'Please',"_ the AI traduced stolidly. _“'This is not necessary.'”_

But Loki's body buckled nonetheless in the steel restraints, and the video ended.

Bruce stared at the frozen picture in slow-building horror.

They were shocking him. The black remote the squad leader activated every time – they were using his shock collar to electrocute him until he fainted, so they could move him around without any danger. _This_ was the reason Loki had reacted so abruptly when Bruce had tested out his miniature computer ; pressing the button, he had triggered a Pavlovian reaction without realizing it.

Bruce could have stomached that fact. Really. Loki _was_ undeniably dangerous. This was still a particularly cruel way of putting someone under on a regular basis, but Bruce would have let it slip.

If not for the sixty or so other videos waiting in line. These ones did not have his name on them.

“Jarvis,” he whispered. “Play _Shield – 001.”_

 

In the video, Loki was lying on a surgery table again, wearing only SHIELD boxer briefs.

He was staring calmly at the ceiling, like that damn first day. Agents in lab coats were bustling about the room, plugging in monitors and adjusting neon lights. This was not a security footage – there was sound on this one. Bruce could hear the rustling of the lab coats and the faint murmurs of their owners. He looked at the date in the bottom right corner ; this had been filmed right after his second meeting with the demi-god, the day Loki had guessed Bruce must have undergone a similar situation in the past.

A dark silhouette appeared in the left part of the screen, turning his back to the camera. Loki smiled slightly at the ceiling.

“Have you noticed Banner was a fraud _already ?”_ he said with the smooth irony Bruce knew only too well. “Why, director, I am impressed with your swiftness.”

“Dr. Banner will keep working for SHIELD,” the man answered in a deep voice.

It was Fury. Of course it was. Around him, the agents had almost finished to settle down.

“Then why is he not here ?” Loki asked with distant interest.

“We share different aims,” Fury only answered. “Gentlemen, let's get started.”

Without any warning whatsoever, the lancet of a surgeon stabbed in the hollow of Loki's collarbone. His eyes went a bit wide with shock, but he did not make a sound, and his features remained harmonious and relaxed even as the blade started slicing his skin open down his chest. The other SHIELD agents were concentrated on the screens of their inactive detectors.

“Here's the deal” Fury said, stepping forward so Bruce could see his tall silhouette and his hands crossed behind his back. “It's very simple. We're here to study your magic – first how to detect it, then how to harness it. And in order to do all these things, we need you to _use_ it.”

“Very simple indeed,” Loki smiled with his eyes closed, letting out a pressured breath as though he was struggling against orgasmic pleasure rather than pain. “But as you might know, Asgard has presented me with a gift of silver as to hold my power in check.”

He briefly tilted his head on the side to expose the thin necklace gleaming against the black strap of his shock collar.

“We know,” Fury said flatly. “We're the ones who requested it, actually. They wanted to strip you of your powers entirely, but then how could you have been considered valuable ?”

“How indeed,” the demi-god acknowledged, his breath now deeper and more controlled as the lancet kept pushing further into his flesh.

Red tears started rolling down his white sides alongside the cut, pooling in the rivulets at the edges of the steel table, slowly outlining a crimson rectangle around him.

“That silver chain still allows you to heal,” Fury went on. “If you don't, you'll die. I take it the rules are clear ?”

“You do make a remarkably straight point,” Loki answered with an effort, his voice breathy and his fingers twitching convulsively against the steel.

“Well then,” the director concluded. “I'll leave you to it.”

Loki kept breathing regularly after he was gone, but his fists had clenched and his forearms were taut against the restraints ; he was now completely surrounded in a thin frame of his own dark red blood as the sharp adamantium blade kept opening him up, appallingly slow. Eventually, his body ended up blighted with a long, deep gash stretching from collarbone to navel. He was breathing faster, and he threw his head back with a scowl of pain when latex-gloved fingers slipped on the cut. A groan escaped him as the fingers hooked _inside_ both edges of the wound ; then the groan grew louder as they pushed in, halting and inarticulate and suddenly the surgeon was _opening him_ like a coat and he was _screaming,_ a terrible scream which swelled and swelled and _swelled_ and broke into sobs until it did not even sound human anymore. The surgeon's sudden exclamation was barely audible over it ; but his surprised jump back, and the golden glow oozing from Loki's gaping wound along with the almost black flood of blood, were noticeable enough. Suddenly, the scientists lost any interest in the agonizing demi-god and focused on their various monitors, captors and counters, hoping to catch a traceable manifestation of the supernatural phenomenon unrolling before their eyes. Loki was left completely unattended, his face contorted in concentration and pain as he focused on closing the wound before he could bleed to death.

He succeeded eventually, and the scientific agitation around him died away along with the last sparkles of his magic. His body had grown back into full health, without so much as a scar left – except for the fact that he was bathed in blood.

The door clanked open.

“Well, that was quick,” Fury snorted, standing in doorframe. “Any results yet ?”

“We're not sure,” a distant voice answered off-camera.

His breathing ragged and heavy, Loki snapped him a glare that could have reduced a lesser man to a pile of charred, smoldering remains – probably would have, had he been fully empowered. Fury only smirked in the corner of his mouth.

“Just work with what you've got until tomorrow,” he said to the agents, uncrossing his arms and straightening up to leave. “I don't think Earth's Liberator here could handle a second round just yet. Do spare him, people ; remember, we're in for the long haul here.”

Loki was trembling with the aftermath and what had to be pure hatred. Fury turned away to leave.

“You can bring him back,” he said – and behind him, the demi-god arched one last time against the table as he was shocked into unconsciousness.

 

The video had stopped for a good five minutes now.

Bruce was still staring motionless at the screen.

 

 _“Doctor Banner ?”_ Jarvis said. _“Shall I play the following ones ?”_

The long list of videos began scrolling down evocatively on the giant screen. _Shield – 002, Shield – 003, Shield – 004._

Down to _Shield – 065._ Sixty-five. Sixty-five times.

And counting.

 _“Doctor Banner ?”_ the AI asked again.

He repeated the question three times before giving up. Bruce was not even seeing the screen anymore. He was remembering Loki's greeting on their third meeting ; the piercing, intense scan, then the sudden carelessness and the mocking taunt, _you know nothing._ Except it had not been taunting nor carelessness, but _relief_ as he realized Bruce knew nothing of the _other_ experiments – like the idiot he was.

_You are the only hope I have._

God, it was not an act. The dizziness, the chills, the sudden tension at the slightest touches, the mental and physical exhaustion, eventually to the point of passing out before Bruce had even entered the lab. _It was not an act._ He had been tortured daily – sometimes several times a day judging by the number of videos – for _weeks,_ and Bruce had been too fucking stupid to notice what was going on right under his nose. Too naive to realize Fury had seen through him and was letting him _believe_ he had Loki's fate in his hands, just so he would behave. Like a child kindly allowed to play in a corner while the grown-ups staged the main event.

 _“Doctor Banner ?”_ Jarvis asked uncertainly.

Right. Sentient building, the doctor remembered. And this was the Hulk's floor – every room would be monitored. He took a breath in, then out. He was _very_ calm, and he would have to _stay_ that way, because if he Hulked out in the tower – if he _really_ Hulked out instead of simply letting his subconscious go for a run – it was all over.

He got up and disconnected his miniature computer from Jarvis before stuffing it back in his bag. He felt as though he was not all here, but his body obviously knew what it was doing and walked out of the room on its own volition, leaving behind the shiny StarkPhone on top of the immense bed.

 

*

 

“Hey J, you there ?” Clint called, hurtling down the stairs from the roof.

_“Good evening, agent Barton.”_

“Yeah, yeah, you too – is Banner around ? In the lab or something ?”

“ _Dr. Banner just left to SHIELD headquarters in the other Quinjet,”_ the AI answered composedly.

Clint stopped dead in his tracks. “You're kidding me.”

_“I'm afraid not, agent Barton.”_

Banner had always kind of ruffled his feathers, but tonight he was reaching a whole new level of annoying. Clint let out an irritated groan. He probably should have called him before leaving, but he wasn't supposed to know the doctor wouldn't stay put for more than a minute. What was Banner even _doing,_ flying back and forth like that ?

“Legolas, hey,” Tony said with surprise as the elevator doors opened. “Sorry, Steve ate all the pizza rolls. We thought you were on baby-sitter duty tonight.”

He smiled as he came nearer.

“Wait, if you're here – don't tell me Fury _finally_ admitted that Banner was enough of a big boy to wake up on his own ? Can you say hallelujah ?”

“No,” Clint said curtly. “It's _about_ Banner.”

“What about him ?”

“He skipped the lab session today and came here. I went after him to talk, but now he's gone back there !”

“Oh, are you two playing tag ? It's not just when he's Hulk ?”

“ _Stark,”_ Clint snapped. “I'm being serious here. I'm telling you, something’s off with him.”

Tony shrugged.

“Sounds paranoid to me, but let's check. Jarv ?”

“ _Sir ?”_

“Has Banner done anything unusual ? Drank espresso instead of green tea, painted his nails pink, lost his cool in front of _Desperate Housewives,_ that kind of thing ?”

“ _Nothing of the sort,”_ the AI replied. But after what sounded like a second of reflexion, he added, _“He seemed quite tense, though. And he did leave what might be a note in the secondary lab.”_

Clint and Tony exchanged a look.

“A note ?” the billionaire repeated.

“ _I believe I can safely say there is a discarded sheet of paper on top of the welding machine.”_

The archer frowned at Tony, who nodded, the smile gone from his face. “Alright, come on.”

It only took them two minutes to get down to the lab and find the paper Jarvis was talking about. Tony unfolded it and smoothed it over the table, squinting at it. The small sheet was almost black with equations written in a narrow hand-writing.

“What's that ?” Clint said. “Code ?”

“You've been with SHIELD for too long,” Tony snorted. “Far as I can tell, those are just calculations.”

“But you're not sure.”

“No, I'm not – but seriously, Barton, why would he leave a _coded message ?”_

Just as he finished his sentence, the lights suddenly went red and an alarm blared in the room.

_“AVENGERS ASSEMBLE. LOCATION : SHIELD HQ.”_

 

*

 

 _You can't do this,_ Bruce had been telling himself half an hour earlier, as he went up to the roof to climb in the Quinjet.

 _You can't do this,_ he had repeated endlessly in his mind as he was flying through darkness above New York City's web of lights.

 _You can't do this,_ he had thought once more as the aircraft slowed down above the HQ.

 _You can't do this !_ he had shouted inwardly as he jumped down in the grass. _You can't !_

 

But he had arrived at SHIELD – and despite his sincere efforts during the whole journey, despite the desperate voice screaming at him that he was about to make a mistake, he had not managed to convince himself not to tear it down.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, leave a comment, I'm dying to know what you thought :) Thank you for reading, as always !


	8. Meltdown

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bruce entered SHIELD's compound in a still altered state. There was a low but shrill sound in his ears as he walked past field agents who ignored him at best. For some reason, he expected the elevator not to answer his command, but he still had not _done_ anything yet, and the doors opened smoothly when he pressed the button.

Once he found himself alone, he got out his miniature computer and hacked into SHIELD once more. Before he had gotten to the lowest underground floors, he had found the map he was looking for. As soon as the doors opened again, he stepped out and found his way in the dark corridors without hesitation.

 

Loki's cell was appalling.

It was nothing but a hundred square feet of bare cement between four walls – a recess with three walls of concrete and one wall of unbreakable glass, effectively denying him any kind of privacy. The demi-god was sitting on the floor in his green-and-black tunic with his knees drawn up and his feet solidly planted in the ground, fingers laced together as though he was simply meditating. But his back was pressing against the wall, his eyes were screwed shut, and slight but uncontrollable chills were running through him from time to time. He had been through his sixty-sixth session of torture while Bruce was away.

The doctor briefly wondered whether SHIELD's scientists had finally figured out how to measure his magic. A true shame he had not checked their work before ripping it to shreds of binary code, really.

A single spotlight was hanging from the ceiling and leveled at Loki's cell, the glass obviously unable to deflect in any way the ruthless beam of light. The demi-god could only close his eyes against it. He had spent a month and a half dividing his time between this shadowless, windowless cube of cement, and the surgery table. With the occasional lab session with Bruce thrown in, of course. SHIELD had to keep the doctor _entertained._

Bruce had to muster up all his strength not to Hulk out with rage and humiliation. Instead, he stepped out of the shade into the merciless light, projecting an immense shadow over Loki's huddled form. The demi-god tensed, then reluctantly opened his eyes.

He saw Bruce and went completely still again – obviously, he had been expecting someone else. They just stared at each other for an endless minute.

“Why didn't you tell me,” Bruce murmured eventually. “Why didn't you _tell_ me.”

Loki did not waste time asking for clarifications. They both knew only too well what was the matter at hand.

“You thought I was trying to trick you,” he said simply.

It was so cruelly evident Bruce could have wept.

He tightened his hand on the shoulder strap of his bag and declared, “I'm running away.”

Loki looked down with a thin smile. “Ah.”

And nobody, _nobody_ should have been able to express so much hopelessness in only one syllable.

At the sound of it, Bruce's rational reasoning just kind of – short-circuited.

“I figured since I was leaving anyway, I might as well have a good reason,” he said in a voice he did not recognize.

Loki kept staring at the floor with slightly wider eyes ; but after a second, he quirked a bitter smile.

“I appreciate it, doctor,” he said wryly. “But you will not be able to get me out of this cell.”

Bruce just pressed the middle button of his crappy computer – and the spotlight died off with a clanking sound almost as loud as the glass door breaking wide open.

Red emergency lights blinked on on the ceiling, dim but not enough for Bruce not to catch sight of the complete astonishment spreading across Loki's face. As he carefully got on his feet, though, his stunned look was slowly overshadowed by a creeping grin.

He reached up to curl his fingers around the shock collar, waited for a heartbeat – and suddenly ripped it off his neck. He stayed there for a second, breathing deep, the black strap hanging loosely in his hand, his teeth gleaming under the red lighting as his smile widened into a truly maniacal smirk. He looked absolutely demonic.

 _What have I done,_ Bruce thought from very, very far away.

But it was too late now, and anyway he was still incapable of thinking properly – the man on the run was taking over. Breathless, he briskly stuffed the computer back in his bag.

“Let's move,” he said.

 

*

 

Natasha was on her way to Hill's office when the entire building powered down.

She instantly stopped dead in her tracks and closed her eyes so her sight would adapt to the darkness faster. She heard faint exclamations of surprise in the distance, but nothing too hysterical. This meant the attackers were not there yet.

She did not doubt for a second that the HQ was under attack.

She raised a hand to her earpiece. “This is agent Romanov. Please acknowledge.”

No answer.

“Repeat, this is Romanov. Does anyone copy ?”

Nothing. She pulled the earpiece out and realized with dismay that it was actually disabled as well. She had no idea those things could even _be_ overridden from the outside.

_From the outside ?_

She stayed motionless for another second, her thoughts running fast. Still no screams or gunshots to be heard. The emergency lights were red, not blue, which meant they were not in total lockdown mode. Nobody was trying to get in ; nobody was trapping them inside.

Somebody was trying to get out.

 

She drew her weapon and began to run.

 

*

 

“C'mon, Stark, what the hell is happening over there ?”

“ _I told you, I don't_ know !”Tony yelled over the coms. _“It's like their entire network turned into a fucking rock !”_

“You mean they're completely out of power ?” Steve asked, his eyes fixed on Iron Man's bright silhouette out of the aircraft.

“That's impossible,” Clint answered before him through gritted teeth, his hands tight around the commands. “There are more emergency power systems than _regular_ power systems in the goddamn building.”

“ _Well all of them are down,”_ Stark said dryly. _“I guess we should be thankful it triggered the alarm.”_

“Any word from Banner or Romanov ?”

“ _Zip. Nada. Zilch. Nothing.”_

“How long till we get there ?” Steve asked tensely, although he already knew the answer.

“Seven minutes,” Clint mumbled. “That's assuming the Quinjet won't revert to a liquid state on the way.”

The aircraft's vibrations were indeed worrying – it usually covered the distance in half an hour – but Clint was pretty confident the engine would not explode, at least not just now.

“ _I'll go ahead,”_ Iron Man offered.

“No,” Steve snapped. “Tony, we have no idea what's out there. You are _not_ charging headfirst into this.”

“ _Oh, come on. It can't be that bad, they have a Hulk. And Romanov ! Even better !”_

Steve's stern orders and Tony's banter decayed into a distant buzzing in Clint's ears. He had gotten so worked up during the past hour that he had forgotten Banner meant Hulk. Whatever was going on at the headquarters, the green giant and the Black Widow could probably handle it – at the very least until the rest of the team got there. Yes, everything would be fine.

 

Then why was he going even faster ?

 

*

 

If not for the eerie, thick silence, Natasha could have believed she was walking the bowels of a submarine. The same dim, red lighting – and the same feeling of being under high pressure. She was very careful to breathe through her nose and to make her steps as light as possible, but if Loki really was out there, he would probably hear her anyway.

It was a bad idea. A _very_ bad idea. She should not have ventured alone in the underground floors – even a depowered Loki was a deadly opponent. But she had no time to go back for backup. Every second mattered.

Without thinking, she cocked her gun – and instantly knew she had made a mistake. The resulting _click_ sounded louder in her ears than an actual gunshot. She froze, holding her breath.

She still heard him before she could actually see him – a sharp intake of breath behind her. She turned and fired blind, emptying her clip on a single target until she had nearly deafened herself. But the shadow before her had slipped from her view and when she turned again, it was too late – the weapon was ripped from her hands, and the next second she was hit so hard she could not register where it had come from or where it had even landed. The cement floor smacked the breath out of her ; before she could even attempt to fill her lungs, she was forced back on her feet and slammed against the wall, iron fingers seizing her throat. She gasped and clawed uselessly at his hand. His face was only an inch from hers. His eyes were wide and feverish ; he was showing his teeth in what could not be called a smile. She retched and convulsed, writhing in his grip. Black spots were already floating in her vision. He was not in a mood to play. She was going to die here without even knowing how he had gotten out, he hadn't even managed to take off the silver necklace –

“Let her go,” said a soft voice behind him.

Loki's fingers did not quite relax, but they stopped digging in. Natasha's eyes widened with shock when she recognized that voice _– Banner ?_

That was probably the last person she would have expected in a building filled to the brim with SHIELD agents. She didn't even know he was still around. But this was actually better than anything she could have hoped for – he was probably the only one who could take on Loki.

The scene froze. The demi-god kept staring at her with a smirk in his eyes, without turning. Of course, he would stall for time with Banner. But her time was running out. His hand was like a vice around her throat, choking the life out of her. She needed Hulk now. _Change ! Do it !_

“I said, let her go,” the doctor repeated without speaking louder.

Loki took a deep inspiration through his nose, then released her. She fell in a ungraceful heap on the floor, coughing and gasping.

“Thanks,” she heard Banner say in a reproachful tone. “Now come on.”

 

_What ?_

 

Her brain was not oxygenated enough yet to process the three words she had just caught, but she still raised her gaze in an attempt to understand. Banner was already leaving, but Loki took the time to look down at her with a mocking smirk. Then he spun on his heels, and followed the doctor.

Her stomach churned with a sinking feeling.

 

*

 

Bruce had a map, and Bruce controlled the entire building, so he should not have been so surprised when it appeared they could actually make it out. Only one corridor separated them from the nearest exit, but it was crowded with SHIELD agents running around as though they all knew exactly what to do in such a situation – and they probably did. Even without Loki's clearly identifiable silhouette next to him, Bruce would have stood out like the grain of sand in the gears he was. He could easily blend in crowds ; only not _military_ crowds.

“Shut the remaining lights,” Loki suggested. “I can guide us to the exit.”

Bruce knew only too well that Loki was perfectly able to see in the dark, yes. Something like his fourth report to Fury ? He had forgotten.

“I don't control those,” he mumbled, eyeing the dim red spots above, like glaring eyes on the ceiling. “They're chemical emergency lights.”

“Then we run for it.”

It could get ugly. Really ugly. Loki was weakened and depowered, but he had proved he was still strong enough to kill a human Avenger. (The memory of their very recent encounter with Natasha did not stir anything inside Bruce. He knew there would be an aftershock – for now, adrenaline imposed its rules.) He really could have done without running through scores of SHIELD agents, but it seemed like they didn't have a choice.

 

*

 

Only when she was half-way to the ground floor did Natasha's Starkphone acquired a signal. She stopped dead in the middle of the stairs and called Tony. When the call actually went through, she swore in Russian and promised herself never to roll her eyes at Stark's techno-eccentricities ever again.

_“ – hold on, I'm getting a call – ”_

“Stark,” she breathed, her voice cracked and raw. “Switch me to the coms !”

_“Done, but what the hell is going – ”_

“Where are you ?” she cut off.

It was Clint who answered. _“In a Quinjet two minutes from here. How's the situation ?”_

“Bad.” She swallowed. “Loki escaped.”

 _“Shit,”_ Clint swore under his breath, while Stark protested, _“What ? How – ”_

“Banner is helping him.”

There was a pause.

 _“Say again, Widow,”_ Steve said.

“Banner is helping him.” She leaned against the wall. “He's the one who took the power down.”

Their silence was eloquent enough.

 

*

 

“Okay,” Bruce murmured. “Walk fast, but don't run.”

Loki nodded and they stepped out of the shadow. Bruce repressed the urge to look down which would only make him more noticeable. When they came across a pair of field agents, he braced himself for the worst – but was it because of the darkness, or the tension in the air, or the fact that everyone was looking for an _outside_ attacker ? Whatever the reason, they passed unnoticed. Bruce felt as though they had dodged a blast as they kept walking until they reached the door. It had an alarm system, but of course it was disabled and it opened silently without any resistance – and suddenly they were outside.

Bruce stopped and looked around in apprehension at their dark surroundings. It was all quiet and there was no one to be seen, which only tightened the knot in his chest. No. Just – no. It was _never_ this easy. He had just broken out a mass-murderer from one of the most protected buildings on Earth. There had to be a catch.

Such thoughts did not seem to cross Loki's mind. Actually, he had apparently forgotten about Bruce himself. His insane smirk had faded along with his burst of adrenaline ; right now, he only looked like a man filling his lungs with night air after almost two months spent in a neon-lit cube of concrete. He took a deep breath ; his eyes watered, so he closed them, but he could not hide his shivers.

The doctor watched him. Something was slowly swelling inside him, a boiling sea of guilt and horror at his own actions – but that sight kept a lid on it for a while longer. Because he knew what he had freed Loki from ; and even now, facing the soon-to-be consequences of his recklessness, Bruce knew, without a single doubt, that he would do it again.

He exhaled, then looked up at the demi-god. “Okay, we should probably – ”

With a sudden whirring and a loud clanking sound, Tony's armor fell from the sky and landed with a fist on the ground. Almost instantly, Steve let himself fall from a rapidly approaching Quinjet, which doubled back and landed behind them. Before it had even come to a full halt, Clint climbed out the window on top of the cabin.

And drew his bow at Bruce.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You have no idea how motivating your comments are. Thank you and please, please keep telling me what you thought, it's what keeps me writing !


	9. Curbstomp

 

 

 

 

 

 

The downside of being Hawkeye was that you could never assume your sight was deceiving you. Right now though, Clint would almost have preferred being blind.

He had never drawn his bowstring so taut. He felt like he was ready to snap, himself. He forced himself to look at Banner as though he was just another target, just another minion of Loki standing next to him in the grass. It was supposed to make things easier, but this time, it really didn't.

“Cap,” he spat in the coms, because he needed someone in charge here. “What are the orders ?”

“ _Let's start with the obvious,”_ Tony said, and suddenly straightened up to blast Loki in the chest.

The sudden move took everyone by surprise, but Loki's scowl of pain along with the fact that he dropped on one knee were even more baffling. Tony himself hadn't probably expected to be so successful. The demi-god was still conscious, though ; Iron Man stepped forward, raising a hand to finish him –

– but when he fired for the second time, something huge exploded in the night, like a big top made of blue pale light, and the billionaire was blasted back across the street.

For a wild second, Clint thought Loki had gotten back his powers – then he saw Banner holding a small device in his right hand, like an old mp3 player. He had no idea what it was, but it had just countered the Iron Man, so they needed the doctor to kindly let go of it, and Clint had shot an arrow at him before the thought was even finished in his head – but a located patch of blue light deflected the blow.

Banner still startled and gaped at him, looking white and terrified ; next to him, Loki smirked slightly, even though he was still kneeling, panting with his hand pressed against his side.

 _“What the hell was that ?”_ Steve yelled. _“Tony, are you alright ?”_

“ _That was a shield,”_ Tony answered without bothering with the second question. He sounded part angry, part impressed. _“An electro-magnetic shield.”_

“Where did he _get_ that ?” Clint groaned.

 _“Well, obviously it's home-made,”_ the billionaire said. _“I'm gonna see if I can – ”_

He abruptly stopped talking. _That_ caused Clint to look his way.

“Stark ?”

The armor's lights turned off, and it fell on its knees with a clanking sound. Clint turned his head just in time to see Banner lowering the hand holding the miniature computer, as though he had just used it again.

He had deactivated Iron Man.

How could anyone even _do_ that ?

The armor's blue lights flickered, then died again. Alright. Tony and Jarvis were fighting it – they just had to stall for time. Thankfully, Banner looked in just the right mood for that.

 _“I'm sorry,”_  Clint heard him pant, through Steve's com. “ _You have to let us go.”_

“God, Banner, you're not even mind-controlled, are you ?” the archer mumbled in disgust from the top of the Quinjet.

Tony's armor lights flashed again, for a bit longer this time. Banner snapped him an anxious look, and when Steve stepped forward, he stepped back.

_“Please, I don't want to hurt – ”_

Tony sprang on his feet with a whirr and fired at the doctor with both hands, shrouding him in a blaze of fire. The blue web of the shield rose again in response, beautiful against the darkness of the night – although said darkness faltered when the lights of the HQ flickered back on in the background.

“ _It's home-made alright,”_ Tony said as though there had been no interruption, keeping Banner under constant fire. _“I've looked into it and it's degrading with use. Which means it'll break if we keep hitting it.”_

“Wait – what just happened to you ?”

“ _Jarvis also re-routed his override on SHIELD's network,”_ Tony said, blatantly avoiding to admit Jarvis had been overridden himself, if only for a short time. _“They should be in touch by now.”_

“ _Back online,”_ Natasha's voice confirmed in Clint's ear. _“We evacuated the building. The field's yours.”_

“ _Okay, guys, it's on,”_ Steve said. _“Hawkeye, got any explosive arrows ?”_

“Yes sir,” Clint murmured, wriggling the fingers of his right hand and hearing his quiver buzz and click in response.

“ _Fire away – keep going until the shield breaks.”_

Clint notched an arrow, barely aiming before opening his fingers. A ball of fire burst into the night next to Tony's branding beams.

“ _Yep,”_ Tony said in a concentrated voice. _“You can do that again, the shield's integrity just dropped by 16% percent.”_

The archer could not catch sight of Banner's silhouette now, with the smoke and the blinding light of Tony's repulsors. He reached for an arrow, but his arm froze as his brain suddenly decided to go on strike and declare it all a fucked-up hallucination, because were they really – were they really fighting against _Bruce Banner ?_

And on a completely different matter, was he really resisting them on his own ?

“ _As soon as the shield's down, I'm going in against Loki,”_ Steve announced. _“You two cover me.”_

 _“Glad to see you've learned your lesson from Stuttgart,”_ Tony mocked.

There was a discord in his banter, and Steve's voice was stiffer than usual. Clint could hear they were trying not to dwell too much on what they were doing, either. It was wiser – he knew only too well it was so much easier not to think on the battlefield. But that had never been his strong point ; Natasha was here as living proof. So instead of shooting another arrow, he looked for Banner again. For moment, he just couldn't locate him through the roaring fire and smoke – the whole area had turned into a blazing hell...

There. There he was. He had pulled something else from his bag, something like a dull black gun. The weapon was pointing at the ground, as though he was unsure whether to use it. But when the blue web of the shield began to flicker, he screwed his eyes shut for a second.

Then opened them and raised his arm to aim.

Clint adjusted his earpiece. “Guys – ”

Banner looked at _him –_ directly, unmistakably, right in the eye – and pulled the trigger.

The entire world did a _somersault._

Clint was thrown on the ground and heard an uncanny creaking above him – he only had time to roll on himself before the Quinjet crashed on its side with an earth-shattering noise. Panting and disoriented, he thought the blast was rattling him for longer than it should have ; then he understood it was actually the very _earth_ shifting beneath him – he thought he could hear it, layers and layers of mud and rock chafing, grinding together like the teeth of an angry giant, heaving up and down like a rough sea. A monstrous racket echoed all around him and the ground trembled again, as though something very big had just caved in. In all his adventurous life, Clint had never happened to live through an actual earthquake – not on this scale – and it scared the _heart_ out of him. There was something dreadfully humbling in this tremendous force rumbling deep under – thousand of years ago, men were probably feeling the exact same abject fear Clint was feeling right now. All the technology in the world would always be powerless against that.

Except this _wasn't_ natural. Bruce Banner had twisted the laws of nature, and fired an _earthquake_ at his former allies. It made sense in a senseless world – the Hulk felt like this too, both the unstoppable force and the unmoving object, so it wasn't surprising really that only Banner should be able to do this – this was not so impressive, this was just a bottled, decayed, mechanized Hulk, but Hulk was supposed to – supposed to be a _friend..._

“Guys,” Clint breathed, rolling on his back.

“ _Yeah, we_ noticed !” Stark sounded almost hysterical, but the archer couldn't tell whether he was losing it from raw terror or pure scientific awe. _“By the way, the HQ's gone, in case you wondered what that crumbling sound – ”_

“Shut up !” he snapped. “Listen to me ! Banner just burst his own forcefield – shoot him now !”

“ _Hawkeye.”_ Steve still managed to sound admonishing even in the middle of chaos. _“We don't want to kill him.”_

“ _I_ don't want to kill him !” Clint yelled. “Shoot him until _Hulk comes out !_ He's our last chance !”

Steve paused for a heartbeat.

 _“Iron Man,”_ he said.

_“On it.”_

Clint heard the whirring of Tony's repulsors as he blasted off in the sky. He got up and saw him drawing a curve among the suffocating clouds of black smoke to fall back down towards Banner like a missile. Breathless, the archer tore off his gaze from Tony to look down at the doctor.

Banner was standing in the middle of a curiously green circle – the grass his shield had preserved from the fire. He just kept his head raised to stare at Tony, like he had watched the twilight skies before transforming, that last time.

Next to him, Loki finally got on his feet. Clint saw there was no wound on his side, although a hole had been burned in his leather tunic. He came nearer, and whispered something to Banner, who did not react.

Iron Man was rapidly approaching. Banner closed his eyes.

“Come on,” Clint muttered. “Come on, come on, come on !”

The doctor's body shivered violently, once ; he fell on all fours, scowling, his back arching and stretching his battle-gear. Loki took a step back.

“Yes,” Clint hissed. “Come _on !”_

Banner curled on himself and growled, like he had growled on the Helicarrier, trying to fight it, but green was creeping up his arms and suddenly he was changing for good. Feelings of victory and relief bloomed inside Clint along with the Hulk's huge, green silhouette, and exploded when the giant bellowed his rage at the sky.

 _“Well done, Hawkeye,”_ Steve said in the coms.

Hulk got on his feet, then shook his massive head with a snort before blinking suspiciously at his surroundings. Tony let out a whoop and kept on swooping – the archer could tell he was planning to rectify at the last moment. Cocky bastard.

But the second he came within Hulk's reach, the giant turned with uncanny speed and _smacked_ him in mid-air.

 

The billionaire's body drew a graceful curve above their heads – and crashed through a wall of concrete in an explosion of dust.

Clint heard nothing, as if it was a joke, a hallucination, as though he was just dreaming all this. Which had to be the case. There was no other explanation possible.

 

But when the dust cleared, he saw.

Hulk was standing in middle of the battlefield, and Loki had climbed _on his shoulders._ He was smirking the widest, sharpest smirk Clint had ever seen, radiating triumph and malevolent joy.

And the archer snapped. _No._ That _– that_ he just refused to believe.

“Hulk,” he blurted out.

His friend turned to him with a growl, but it was not enough for Clint to step back. He dropped his bow and came forward, opening his hands in baffled incomprehension.

“Hulk, buddy,” he said, completely disarmed. “What are you doing ?”

The giant contorted his face yet again, but his grimace was in equal parts furious and rueful. Loki crouched to grab him by the hair and murmured something again, glancing towards Clint with a wicked smirk. Hulk let out a growl of desperate frustration, and looked at the archer waiting for him.

He growled again, grinding his teeth, then took a step back. And another one. Then he crouched, and in a sudden leap – he was gone.

 

*

 

_It feels like flying_

 

_Almost, he never flew before but it must be equally exhilarating_

 

_Like riding a storm, like riding thunder, for the first time in centuries he feels like he truly is on top of the world_

 

_He savors the feeling of his liberty after so long, the night wind in his black hair, the sheer excitement coursing through his veins like sparkles of fire_

 

_Nothing like having the very force which once defeated him as a mount, he feels invulnerable, he feels whole again, if only for a short time_

 

_Most of all the warmth of revenge in his chest soothes his broken soul, memories of hatred giving him strength for a little while longer_

 

_But in truth he is exhausted, his body is worn out like an old rag that has been wrung one time too many, like he is about to fall to pieces_

 

_He pulls the thick black hair again, his lips brush the ear of the giant who grumbles in response, like another earthquake rumbling through his bones_

 

_He tightens his grasp, repeats the words again, and this time only silence answers him_

 

_And they change course, away from the rising sun_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

After Manhattan, Clint thought he had seen it all. Waking up from alien mind-control, with friendly blood on his hands, to find the city devastated, SHIELD almost dismantled. And Coulson dead.

He _had_ hit bottom that day – he must have, since everything had kept on improving ever since.

Until this.

Maybe this was bottom.

 

Thanks to Natasha's quick thinking, there were no casualties to report, save for the destroyed Quinjet and the HQ which had completely collapsed shortly after the end of the battle. The Avengers and the SHIELD agents present in the building had entrenched themselves on the Helicarrier. At this moment, Clint would have almost preferred to be back as a hitman if it meant he got to get on with his work, leaving the thinking up to others. But as it was, he had to sit motionless around a table, in a room buzzing with the distant noise of the engines, facing Fury and Hill along with the other Avengers. The second in command was staring at no one in particular, while the director made a point in looking at them one by one with his arms folded. Clint was pointedly looking at the wall with his feet crossed on an empty chair ; Tony was staring in space ; Steve was looking down at the table as though trying to decipher something engraved on the surface ; Natasha was glaring at Fury's chest as if she hoped to provoke a heart attack. But in the end, they were all avoiding his gaze.

“Would anyone,” the director articulated eventually, “care to explain this disaster ?”

He waited, widening his only eye. _“Anyone.”_

The silence was so thick Clint could have rolled it in a ball between his hands.

“Nothing,” Fury concluded in a terrifyingly calm voice. “Banner breaks Loki free from our headquarters, turns them into powder using unknown tech, then corners three Avengers _on his own_ before going off the grid. And you can tell me – _nothing.”_

That last word was dropped on them like a ton of bricks. Clint didn't give a damn about Fury, he had grown indifferent to his scolding a long time ago, he was just staring at the wall to channel his rage into productive thinking – but he wasn't sure the others were feeling the same. Steve, for one, looked absolutely mortified, and Natasha was always the most aggressive when she felt guilty.

“Banner is one thing,” Hill said. “But what about Hulk ? How could he suddenly turn against – ”

“Just a minute,” Tony snarled. “What do you mean, _'Banner is one thing'_?”

They all looked at him. His eyes were dark and dangerous, but he opened his hands and scoffed as though he was just going on with his usual banter.

“What, am I missing something ? Have we – have we never trusted him in three months ?”

A screen blinked on before Tony's eyes, displaying a view of the smoldering ruins of the HQ. The billionaire gritted his teeth and looked away.

“We did trust him,” Fury said in a cutting voice. “And he betrayed us.”

He switched off the screen, then walked around Tony's chair to lean against the table.

“Gentlemen, we need a place to start.”

“Why not the security footage ?” Clint said.

He kept staring at his blank spot on the wall, tightening his crossed arms.

“He spent hours in the lab with Loki,” he said to nobody in particular. “Sounds like a lead to me.”

“He destroyed everything we had,” Hill said, shaking her head. “Long before the HQ collapsed. He burned our data to ashes.”

Clint closed his eyes. Somehow, he had hoped for it all to be the result of a sudden fit, but it seemed like nobody was getting his wishes granted today.

“What about those weapons ?” Fury said. “Where did he get them ?”

“I – ” Tony said, weakly waving a rumpled sheet of paper before laying it on the table in a defeated gesture. “I think he developed them in my lab.”

Yet another evidence of premeditation. Clint reopened his eyes with a deep, calming breath. Steve took the paper, turned it between his hands.

“What's that ?” he mumbled. “A code ?”

“You think so too,” Clint said, straightening up in his chair – but Stark shook his head.

“I told you, they're just calculations, Barton. That's... that's an early draft for his weapons.”

The archer leaned forward to take the paper from Steve's hands. He squinted at the narrow writing, but he couldn't get a thing. Those really were the most abstruse calculations he had ever seen, almost like an alien language. Maybe this was the reason he felt there was something hidden in here somewhere. Even now, staring at the equations, he just knew they were screaming something at him. But what in this mess could possibly be resonating with _him ?_

He folded it in four and put it in his breast pocket. Fury was fuming again.

“Are you telling me there is no way for us to locate the two single most dangerous beings of this goddamn planet ?”

“Of course there's a way,” Tony said in an irritated voice.

“The gamma radiation,” Natasha murmured.

Fury looked at her. She glanced up, the first person in the room to cross his gaze.

“The last time he was here, Banner made a tracking algorithm,” she said. “We can use it.”

“Wasn't it meant to find the Tesseract ?” Steve said, a bit hesitant on such uncertain ground.

“It was,” Tony said, straightening up. “But I can recalibrate it so it detects the Hulk's radiation instead. I worked with Banner on this, last time ; I know how it's done.”

“Hill,” Fury said. “Take Stark to the lab now.”

So Banner's fall would be his own doing. Clint wondered if he should have rejoiced at such dark irony. But this was something the doctor had invented to _help_ them. To use it against him now only stressed the fact that he had defected to Loki, and _how did these words even_ fit _together ?_

“It makes no sense,” he heard himself say, anger boiling up like a nausea.

Steve and Natasha turned to him – they were the only ones left in the room.

“Why would Banner help _Loki ?”_ the archer protested. “That's the guy who called him a mindless beast, and tried to use him against us ! He's a mass-murderer and – shit, we all know how Banner feels about killing people. Something _happened_ here !”

“Very well,” Natasha answered composedly. “So what happened, Clint ?”

The archer tried to think of a good reason for Banner to turn against them so suddenly, and found none – because of course, it _didn't_ make sense.

“Maybe he was forced,” he still said. “Blackmailed.”

“Maybe,” Natasha conceded. “But then Hulk would have flattened Loki into the ground. If _he_ turned against us as well, it means Banner's motives are rooted deep inside him.”

She was implacably serene and during a second, he hated her for it.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “But he showed his true colors.”

“I'm afraid she's right,” Steve murmured.

“So what – we just go to war ?” Clint growled.

Steve looked at him. His blue eyes were flooded with a mix of sorrow and resolution.

“What else is there to do ?” he said calmly.

“I don't know, but there must be a more clever thing to – I mean, he'll just kick our collective ass again ! He was beating us _before_ Hulk decided to swat Tony like a fly !”

“We'll be prepared this time,” Steve said in that same too-serene tone – he was wearing his military training like a shield, Clint understood. “And we're getting backup.”

“Backup ?” the archer repeated.

The entire ship suddenly dipped a few hundred feet, almost shaking them off their chairs. They got up in a hurry and ran into the control room. The huge windows showed only a gray, threatening sky of thunder-clouds and rain ; there was a bright red spot standing out on the wing, like a flag billowing in the wind.

“ _Attention all ship,”_ Hill's voice said above their heads. _“Thor Odinson just boarded the Helicarrier.”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading ! ... what did you think ? :3


	10. Fall

 

 

 

 

 

Even before he had completely woken up, Bruce was painfully certain it had all been real.

Because if really it had been nothing more than a bad dream, if really he had not fought the Avengers, it meant that he had not freed Loki either, meaning he had no reason to, meaning the demi-god was not even back, meaning that Manhattan had never happened, meaning that Bruce was still in India and struggling against the longest nightmare of his life. He would have given anything to wake up trembling and drenched in sweat in his small shack, with the Hulk back to being a rumbling, untamed presence in the back of his mind. He would have gotten out in the velvety night, waited for his heart to calm down, and laughed at his terrible skills in sweet dreaming.

But he knew better.

A sudden thought occurred to him, though – as usual, he hardly had any memories from his transformation. What if SHIELD had captured him after he had changed ? He had come round in a cell before. He could very well be back in his little steel room, only the door would be locked this time...

But the steel cell was gone, along with the rest of the building, and when Bruce finally opened his eyes, it was to an unknown, blank ceiling. He did not know whether to feel guiltily relieved or cruelly disappointed. He could not decently regret imprisonment, but a part of him felt like that was all he deserved. And perhaps it would have been better, if he had been reduced to a guinea pig along with Loki – at least he would have been spared the excruciating choice between his friends and his convictions. But in his misfortune, he was still free, and deep inside, despite everything, still wished to be.

So he slowly propped himself up on the mattress to take a cautious look around.

He had woken up in worse places, but this was by no means a welcoming room. It seemed too wide, as though all the furniture had been removed. The floor was covered in gray linoleum and the walls and ceiling painted in stark white ; the cold, colorless light of an early morning was washing in through huge windows. Bruce was lying on an old mattress on the floor, without any sheets or covers whatsoever. A vague, musty smell floated around.

“Awake,” someone remarked behind him.

Bruce did not turn around. He sat up completely and ran a hand through his hair.

“Where are we ?” he mumbled.

There was a silence. Then :

“An abandoned Hydra compound, in the Great Basin Desert.”

The doctor looked up in bafflement. From where he was, he could only see a pale cloudless sky out the window, but the Hulk certainly was fast enough and Loki had no reason to lie about their location. How could he know for sure, though ? How did he even know about American geography – and more importantly, how did he know about _Hydra ?_

Loki gave a slight chuckle behind him. “I did my research, doctor. Unlike other... visitors, _I_ was not cast unprepared on your perplexing planet. I spotted a few places beforehand ; I would have picked this one for the war, had it been closer to your city.”

“Okay,” Bruce mumbled, rubbing his forehead. “And... you guided us here ?”

“It seemed like the perfect location. Secluded, and not quite defenseless.”

“Plus you get to connect me with Hydra,” Bruce said sharply. “Isn't that overkill ?”

Loki huffed. “You are too suspicious. After what happened last night, I hardly need to stress your new-found villainy.”

Bruce closed his eyes and rubbed the middle of his forehead for another minute.

“What happened last night ?” he finally forced himself to ask.

“Oh, you did not _kill_ anyone, to my personal dismay,” Loki answered with a cutting smirk in his voice.

The doctor could hear his fluid steps as he crossed the room to come nearer.

“You did give it a fair try with Stark, though.”

Bruce felt like his body was turned inside out. He closed his eyes, wishing more than ever that this was all just a nightmare.

He had tried to prepare himself to the consequences. He had made a point in staring at Barton before he fired the taser. If he could do it watching what he was losing forever, it meant his reasons were good enough. And despite the memory of Clint, the sight of Clint, he had shot. Lost him.

Lost them all.

“Have no regrets,” Loki said. “They deserved it.”

“No,” Bruce answered automatically. “No. Nobody ever deserves it.”

“Really,” the demi-god asked in a sharper voice. “And tell me, doctor, how far did this soft thinking get you ?”

“Well I'm still alive,” he mumbled dryly from between his fingers.

“Oh, _still alive._ What an achievement after nearly fifty years of existence.”

Bruce dropped his hands and turned to look up at him. Loki had stopped a few feet from him, standing tall in his black-and-green clothes – although his face remained marked with exhaustion and pain.

“Look, I don't expect any thanks,” the doctor said angrily. “But what do you want from me ?”

“The real question is, what do _you_ want from _me.”_

Loki came a bit closer, the flaps of his leather tunic gracefully billowing with each step.

“I could disappear now,” he said. “But Thor will come after me eventually, and the Avengers will come after _you._ It would be wiser not to part.”

“Yeah, sorry, I'm not ready for a long-term relationship,” Bruce said in a hoarse voice, sitting with his back against the wall. He coughed, then added “Is there water in – oh.”

The demi-god was offering him a glass. Bruce hesitated, then mumbled “Thanks,” and reached up to take it. Loki waited until he had drunk, then took the glass back and returned to the other end of the room ; there was a counter there with a small sink.

“Banner,” he said. “Think. This is nothing like before. There will be nowhere for you to hide. This time, they will not rest until they have you dead – or worse.”

Bruce hated his name on those lips. And he hated the words coming out of those lips, too.

“I don't care,” he said. “I knew what would happen before I got you out. And maybe it's for the best. Maybe it's fate.”

“Fate is for cowards who choose not to fight,” Loki snarled. “You mean to let them reduce you to a mute beast once again ?”

Bruce closed his eyes – and instantly realized he shouldn't have. The silver flash of adamantium walls exploded behind his eyelids along with memories of coldness, of horror, of pain beyond words. He shook his head briskly.

“I – ” He bit his lip. “I can't. I can't hurt anyone.”

Loki let out an irritated sigh. “As you wish. But do not give in, either.”

“How am I supposed to do that ?”

“You can get them to leave you alone for good – if you can get them to fear you.”

Bruce could not help laughing out loud, even though he had probably never sounded so bitter. “I thought I'd tried that already. Or are you telling me the Hulk's too staid for this world ?”

The demi-god snorted disdainfully.

“A beast is just a beast, doctor ; something to be tamed and caged. I am speaking of _true_ terror, and you underestimate your own potential in the matter.”

The doctor would have laughed again, had he not been afraid he would start to cry as well. “What potential ? All I can do is run.”

“That is not all I remember from last night,” Loki smirked.

Bruce fell silent.

The demi-god crossed his arms, then declared :

“An aimless force will grant you wariness. A controlled power will earn you respect.”

He glanced at Bruce's bag in a corner. The shoulder strap was ripped from his transformation ; Loki must have carried it himself.

“That earth-shifting weapon,” he said in a low voice. “It is the key to solving all your problems.”

His gaze set itself on Bruce again, and he waited in silence for his reaction. The doctor looked at him for a long time ; eventually, his lips stretched in a wan smile.

“Not gonna happen.”

Loki shrugged.

“We have one day left – maybe two – before SHIELD finds us.”

“I won't change my mind.”

The demi-god gave a slight, nasty smirk.

“We shall see about that.”

 

*

 

Stark's tracking algorithm was at work ; there was nothing to do but wait. Aimless for the time being, the Helicarrier sailed the dark clouds with a strange, heavy grace, like a space whale lost in the upper atmosphere. Usually, Clint enjoyed the reminder, knowing he was higher from the ground than he would ever be.

Today, he was lying in the top bunk of the small cabin he shared with Natasha whenever he had to sleep on the job. Instead of staring out the round window, he was turning his back to it, his gray eyes fixed on the opposite wall. The door was ajar, and he could hear Thor's booming voice and Fury's deep rumbles as they failed to argue quietly in a corner of the command room.

“ – let my brother escape, he was under your responsibility – ”

“ – Asgard _gave_ him to us, you are not entitled to – ”

“ – I could leave this instant and let you mortals on your own – ”

“ – if you're not ready to help, then please be my guest – ”

A clearer, firm voice interrupted them ; Steve, of course, then the quiet asserting tones of Natasha as they were both trying to calm things down. As it turned out, Asgard had problems of its own at the moment, and the demi-god would not have come back if not for the twin disasters of Loki breaking out and the Avengers getting their ass handed to them by the book. Thor's disappointment was as usual infuriatingly patronizing, but as things were, nobody could really come up with any devastating argument against it – although it obviously didn't stop Fury from trying. Hence Clint Barton hiding in his room like a child whose parents are fighting.

The door suddenly opened wider and Tony slipped inside, crossing the cabin in two strides to drop into the only chair.

“Escaping conflict, Stark ?” Clint said to the wall. “Doesn't sound like you.”

“Yeah well, last time I checked, _you_ were more like an open space kind of guy.”

“Touché.”

A long silence stretched between them while they sat listening to the loud voices outside.

“Seriously, Barton,” Tony said, low and toneless _._ “What the hell is going on here ?”

Clint glanced at him. The billionaire had been the first one to trust Banner ; he must feel perhaps the most betrayed of them all. This whole clusterfuck was bound to remind him of Obadiah Stane – of friendly fingers ripping his heart out.

The archer resumed his staring at the wall.

“Did he hurt you ?” he asked. “Hulk ?”

Tony shook his head mutely for a second.

“I'm sure he knew the armor would take most of the blow,” he mumbled.

Just another way of saying _he almost killed me,_ the archer mused. He remembered having thought, just before the attack, that he had forgotten Banner meant Hulk. As it turned out, he had also forgotten Hulk meant Banner. They were connected more deeply than anyone cared to realize, to the point of defecting together...

But everything had been so _smooth_ until then. Hulk was grinning all the time, not just before a battle. He had tried telling Clint at times how much the team's acceptance meant to him. Sure, he was no skilled speaker, but the archer had understood from his reasserted promises of protection and the sudden anger that seized him at the mere thought of his comrades getting injured.

Tony must have been thinking the same, since he suddenly blurted, _“Something_ happened. I can't believe Banner would just snap like that – lose everything, and for what ?”

He looked up at Clint, who made no effort to cross his gaze. He grew more and more uneasy under Stark's watchful eyes, though, because once again, he knew they were following the same train of thoughts.

“Hey,” the billionaire said eventually. “Hadn't you mentioned he was uncomfortable with the whole experimenting-on-Loki thing ?”

“Of course he was,” the archer said briskly.

Even now, he still resented Fury for this incredibly stupid idea – seriously, why not ask Stark to mechanize waterboarding while he was at it ? – but he shook his head nonetheless.

“Doesn't explain anything. Banner was the one in charge. It's not like he was taking... unwanted orders or anything. He had it under control.”

“So you're saying he didn't snap at all,” Tony said, falsely casual. “You're saying he took his decision the day he took the job.”

He kept nodding haphazardly, pursing his lips, then screwed his eyes shut as though trying to contain something within himself. Clint hated that thought too, but Natasha was right. Nothing could explain Banner turning against them out of the blue ; besides, he had destroyed the security footage before leaving ; he had invented weapons to hold them back. He _had_ planned it all. For months.

The archer rubbed his face with a frustrated scowl, then dropped his hand flat. The bulge of his chest pocket under his fingers stopped his motion. He flicked it open, then got out Banner's draft and unfolded it to stare at the equations once again. And once again, he just knew there was _something_ here, something that should have been painfully obvious but stayed just at the edge of his understanding.

“Hey,” he said out loud. “How long before the algorithm spots him ?

“I don't know,” Tony answered in a dejected voice. “Couple hours. Why ?”

Clint sat up and jumped on the floor.

“Get up,” he said, opening the door. “We're going back to your tower.”

“Why ?” Tony repeated.

The archer stuffed the draft back in his pocket. “Because that's the only place Banner didn't clean up before he left.”

 

*

 

A few hours had passed.

Bruce had wandered aimlessly in the deserted base before coming back in the first room. He was now staring out the window, not that there was much to see. Apart from the Rocky Mountains faintly outlined in a blue haze against the horizon, the landscape was one of the flattest, driest places he had ever seen. Dust and rocks as far as he could see, and a sky so wide, so empty, it seemed to weigh on him like an accusation. Unforgiving, or indifferent. He could not tell which was worse.

It was almost unbearably quiet. He found himself wishing for smoke in the distance, for a thousand jeeps and tanks coming for him, for the humongous shape of the Helicarrier appearing above the mountains. Wishing for heroes to start falling from the sky like a colorful rain.

Was that really what he wanted ? Was he really just going to wait ?

A faint move at the edge of his gaze caught his attention. He turned and saw that Loki had leaned against the wall, breathing deeply with his eyes closed.

“Are you – ” the doctor frowned. “Are you still healing ?”

Loki glared up, but kept silent, probably because the answer was obvious. He _seemed_ fine, but he came a long way. Bruce knew how it felt – even when you healed in record time, months of torture left you aching. Overstretched. He remembered that, in the end, he had just wanted to sleep – sleep and sleep until the end of time...

“Why did you do it ?” Loki suddenly said.

Bruce blinked, jarred out from his thoughts.

“Why did you save me ?” the demi-god developed in a low voice.

Bruce felt that slight, rueful smile tugging at his lips again. He shook his head without a word.

“You had no _choice,”_ Loki guessed with a sneer. “Is that what you think, even now ?”

He straightened up and stared at him in contempt. “You cultivate inertia, then complain about rolling further and further downhill.”

The doctor did not look away, but it was out of misplaced pride more than anything else. Loki's gaze hardened.

“Enough indecision, Banner. If you do not make a choice _now,_ it will all have been pointless. They will capture me again, and bury you into oblivion for the rest of your life.”

Bruce felt like his lungs had frozen inside his chest.

He had only imagined he would find himself in chains again, but he realized Loki was right. The Avengers would lock him down inside his own _head_ – they would make him stay the Hulk forever.

For a second, complete denial overwhelmed him. _No, no, no, they're friends, they're family, they would never, ever do that,_ but even though he kept feeling the Avengers would not hurt him, he had been proved wrong already. It was the persistence of the Hulk's raw emotions, nothing more – the absurd, hopeless wish of a child. Even now, he was still desperate for them to _care_ somehow, but he had made sure to break these bonds himself – if they had ever existed in the first place...

He realized tears were pricking at his eyes and forced himself to swallow them back. But Loki kept going.

“Stop running. Stop enduring it. Let them fear you, Banner. Let them see how dangerous you can be. It will put an end to it all.”

“I told you,” Bruce murmured, a single tear rolling down his cheek. “Not gonna happen.”

“We wait, then ?” Loki growled. “We hide for them to hunt out ?”

The doctor turned back to stare out the window.

“You can leave,” he mumbled.

“You owe them _nothing._ And the time to fight back is long overdue.”

Bruce managed to curl up his lips in a mirthless smile.

“You just want me to protect you.”

“Yes,” Loki said with passion. “I want us to protect each other, if you could simply _allow_ it.”

The doctor pressed his forehead against the cool glass and took a deep, shaky breath. When a hand brushed his shoulder, he spun round and hit the window trying to flinch away. Loki had recoiled slightly in surprise ; they remained motionless for a heartbeat. The demi-god's expression slowly morphed into something darker.

“They would not even touch you ?” he murmured.

He reached for him again, but Bruce pushed his hand away. “Don't – ”

Loki grabbed him by the collar of his uniform and violently jerked him close.

“ _Don't ?”_ he smirked, all teeth. “Tell me, who _else_ is going to touch you after what you've done ?”

Bruce's eyes briefly widened, then filled with tears of anger. “I _don't_ need – ”

“Another lie,” Loki breathed, pulling him closer.

The doctor tried to push him away, but he of all people knew Loki's strength could not be matched. The demi-god crushed him against his body in a parody of a hug, blocking Bruce's arms between their chests. The doctor still tried in vain to break free – it was like pushing against a brick wall.

“Let _go – ”_

Loki fisted a hand in his hair and jerked his head back so their eyes would meet.

“Face it,” he said, his breath hot and feverish against his skin. “You are craving any kind of attention. This is why you are not calling the beast to your help right now – because you...” He tilted his head to whisper directly in his ear, “...are _terrified_ of being completely alone.”

Bruce struggled violently, but he felt something was threatening to take over him, a tidal wave of feelings too raw and too violent for him to process ; he felt his body beginning to shake with uncontrollable quivers, his breath ragged and interspersed with sobs.

“Let – go,” he said again in a broken voice, scowling not to feel the burning tears rolling down his cheeks.

But Loki's arms wrapped around him to lock their bodies together, pressing Bruce against him so tightly the doctor could not move an inch, only shake with choking sobs against his shoulder.

“Yield, if you must,” Loki breathed. “But yield to _me,_ not to them.”

“No – ”

“Bruce,” he said in his ear. “You have nothing. You _are_ nothing. There is only me. And I will free you, like you freed me.”

“Stop,” Bruce gasped, his breath chaotic and halting. “I can't – I won't – ”

“ _Betray_ them ?” Loki said violently. “But it is done already. You very well know that you ruined everything – you are only embarrassing yourself with those pitiful hopes. You chose _me_ over them.”

His fingers dug in his back like claws. “For once, you will face your deeds, Banner. Because I command it so, and you _will_ yield – like you always do.”

“Please,” he breathed. “Please, let me go.”

“Tell me what else is left in this world for you,” the demi-god hissed with perverse pleasure. “Name something. Anything, and I shall release you.”

Bruce could hardly breathe in the lock of his arms. He tried to think of something, but his mind was a raging turmoil of despair and confusion, and his life a laughable pit of emptiness indeed. He felt like he was crumbling inside, like he was made of dry sand, seeping away ; his bracing against Loki wavered, and the demi-god took advantage of it to tighten his hold even more.

“Yes,” he purred. “Give in.”

Bruce shook his head without a word, trembling with sobs.

“You lost everything.” Loki murmured, his hand more gentle in his hair. “But _I_ can help you. If you let me.”

The doctor's strength was fading. He felt himself collapse against his chest, struggling to catch his breath between his gasping sobs, shivering uncontrollably. Loki ran a hand through his thick curls, caressed his back with the other, his thumb rubbing circles in the tense muscles.

“We can beat them,” he whispered. “We can save ourselves.”

Bruce was still convulsing against him, but it was weaker and weaker.

“Please,” he begged in a wan voice, one last time.

But that was all he could say. And when Loki slightly loosened his constricting embrace, he did not try to break free. The demi-god's lips stretched in a slight smile.

“Yield,” he murmured, and Bruce went completely limp against him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm an awful person.  
> Please, tell me what you thought ?


	11. Shard

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Clint landed with a roll on the platform and got up on his feet just in time to see the Iron Man power down two floors below. From where he was, he had an open outlook on Tony's machines whirring and clicking around him as they stripped him from his armor. The billionaire motioned for Clint to follow before entering his tower ; the doors of the roof opened, and the archer went inside with certain relief – the flight, though short, had chilled him to the bone.

“Alright,” Tony said when they met inside. “We don't have much time.”

Clint nodded. “Let's go back to the lab first.”

But the search was unfruitful. It seemed like the draft had been forgotten by accident after Banner's last lab session. Even the computers were devoid of information. Tony leaned against the table with his hands flat, huffing through his nose in frustration ; then he raised his head to talk to his AI, like he always did when he was in a dead end.

“Jarv,” he said. “Did Banner left something else behind? Anything ?”

_“He did leave his phone on his bed, sir.”_

Clint was already out of the lab before Jarvis was done talking. He got down to Hulk's floor and burst into the bedroom. It was perfectly neat and tidied up, with the immense bed made and the shiny StarkPhone nestled in the middle.

The archer grabbed it and slid it open, sitting on the bed. He was surprised to find there was no password.

“So ?” Tony said, entering the room.

The phone contained nothing except for a few texts. There was only one personal conversation, between him and Stark – _Everything good ? – Coming back soon. –_ and the rest of it was just _Avengers Assemble,_ repeated again and again. Uneasiness settled in the pit of Clint's stomach.

“There's, uh... there's nothing,” he said. “I mean, really nothing. Phone's nearly empty.”

He shouldn't be surprised. After all, Banner had been Hulk most of the time, and the big guy was more interested in smashing than texting.

“Okay,” Tony sighed. “Jarvis ? Last chance, buddy. Can you tell me exactly what Banner did last time he was here ?”

“ _He sat on this very bed and watched videos on a miniature computer before leaving, sir.”_

“Videos ?” the billionaire repeated.

“ _Yes, sir. I offered to switch them on the screen since he appeared to have trouble seeing the images – ”_

“Glasses,” Clint blurted out.

Tony turned at him. “Say what ?”

The archer swallowed and let go of his hip pocket, which he had grabbed instinctively. “Nothing,” he murmured.

Tony turned back to Jarvis with an excited note in his voice. “Jarv, how many videos ?”

_“Seven, sir.”_

“And you read them all ?”

_“Indeed, sir.”_

Tony whooped in joy. “Okay, Barton, time for movie night – night, afternoon, whatever.”

“Wait, you mean – ” Clint frowned. “Jarvis recorded them just by reading them ?”

“That's how good he is,” the billionaire said with a shit-eating grin. “The Palimpsest Protocol, I'll explain it to you some day, we're running out of time.”

The big screen blinked on and Clint's eyes widened when he recognized SHIELD's late lab.

“Shit, that's – ”

“The security footage,” Tony murmured in astonishment.

Banner entered from the left side of the screen and walked hesitantly to Loki. The demi-god was lying on a surgery table ; he said something to the ceiling.

“Wait,” the billionaire said. “How come it's soundless ?”

He turned to Clint. “Is that the usual protocol at SHIELD ? Shitty soundless tapes, like in a bank ?”

The archer shook his head, frowning. “Fast forward,” he said out loud.

The figures on the screen began moving so fast it seemed they were being electrocuted for minutes on end ; nothing happened that was worth noticing. When the video finally ended, Jarvis began to play the next one. It was equally disappointing.

“Are they _all_ mute ?” Tony groaned.

_“All but the last one, sir.”_

“The last one ?”

_“Shield – 001. Shall I read it now ?”_

The billionaire gave an unconvinced sigh.

“Okay, let's have a look.”

 

Only six minutes later, Tony's phone buzzed in his pocket, signaling him that the tracking algorithm had done its job and that they ought to go back to the Helicarrier.

But neither him nor the archer noticed it. The footage was still getting their undivided attention.

 

“What the _fuck,”_ Tony breathed.

 

*

 

Loki was right – the Hydra base was the perfect place for them to start fighting back. The living areas were almost all empty, but the ground floor and basement were still packed with military hardware, although most of it was dusty and unusable – rusty guns, gleaming blades, strange rows of what looked like Faraday cages ; it all seemed mainly derived from the Tesseract, which meant Hydra must have stored the cube in this very base half a century ago. Loki had assured Bruce that the energy harvested from even only a day of use could not be exhausted entirely in fifty years ; and it was confirmed when the lights suddenly blinked on above Bruce's head.

He briefly glanced out the window and realized the sun was setting already. Still nothing on the horizon. He went back to his improvised workshop – he had been tinkering around all day, digging Hydra material for spare parts ; but before he could resume what he was doing, something shifted behind him and two hands set on his shoulders.

He closed his eyes, and took a deep, silent breath. The touch was not even intrusive, but it still set his entire body on edge, as though the long fingers could have sliced into his skin if he happened to make a wrong move. For now, they were light and warm – it was a casual, affectionate contact. Like he hadn't received in ages. It was made to feel like someone cared for him, or simply liked having him around. And he knew it was false. He knew he was being used.

He still didn't even try to push it away, and he furiously, desperately _hated_ himself for it.

Loki's hands clenched a bit more strongly around his shoulders, thumbs pushing into his skin. Bruce slightly turned his head to glance at him in the corner of his eye, as though this was _normal,_ as though he wasn't losing what little respect for himself he had left, by simply leaning into this touch. But God, how much he wanted to – _needed_ to. And Loki knew it, so Bruce had lost. Was lost.

It was as simple as that.

He turned back to his work, and without looking, he could tell Loki was smirking at his passivity.

“So you found the power source ?” he mumbled.

“In the basement, yes,” Loki answered, just a bit too close from his ear. “I merely had to switch it back on.”

“Okay.”

Bruce's voice sounded lifeless even to his own ears. Loki's hands kept putting just enough pressure on his shoulders for him to be conscious of it at every second. He took another breath, then turned away to check his main installation ; Loki let him slip away with nonchalance, but the smirk had not left his face.

Bruce's shield had spent all its energy trying to counter the taser, but since it ran on gamma radiation, the proximity of the Hulk had effectively recharged it. The doctor plugged it in the middle of a network of wires, right next to his miniature computer similarly connected to various devices across the room.

“Is it taking shape ?” Loki asked, casually stepping into his personal space again.

“The Tesseract's residual energy will increase the range of the shield,” Bruce explained in that same toneless, automatic voice. “It'll protect the entire base. Same for the computer's sensors ; we'll known they're coming miles away. The building has defenses of its own, too – apparently the ' _pod barrier'_ is still functional, but I couldn't find out what it was.”

“Very well,” the demi-god said.

He walked around Bruce to place himself on the other side of the hub of wires, and his shoulder slightly brushed him on the way. The doctor kept staring in space, self-disgust simmering just below the surface, slowly intoxicating him.

“And what have you planned for the attack ?”

Bruce looked at his third invention, dismantled and partly rebuilt on another table.

“I rerouted the taser around a hollow core,” he murmured. “It means we can fire it with unlimited power now. It'll destroy anything in a ten-mile-radius ring, but the shield and everything under it should remain untouched.”

Loki gave him a wide, white smirk. “Excellent.”

Bruce only nodded. He was drained out after working all day, but an outside sense of inevitability was forcing him into consciousness, as though he was wired to a battery, himself. His blood was buzzing under his skin. It was like a free fall through empty space – calm and cold and silent, but with his very body acutely aware of its near disintegration. The ground was rapidly approaching ; nothing would stop the unavoidable crash ; and as though in anticipation, Bruce felt like he was falling to pieces, only held together with soldering and duct tape.

There was a hand on his shoulder again.

“You are very tense,” Loki murmured.

Bruce said nothing. The demi-god tightened his grasp and pulled gently ; the doctor followed him across the room, without thinking.

“Your devices are keeping watch for us,” Loki said, his hand resting on his shoulder with something resembling concern as he guided him back towards their small living area. “You should take the opportunity to rest while you still can.”

Bruce shook his head. “There's no point” he said hoarsely. “I won't... I won't be able to sleep.”

He dreaded the near future so much he was actually sick with anxiety. Loki smiled and pulled him closer, wrapping his arms around him again, burying a hand in his curls to press his head against his shoulder.

“Bruce,” he murmured.

The uptight knot that was Bruce's body loosened ever so slightly – and it was enough for him to start shivering again like a leaf in the wind. Loki sighed in sympathy and tightened his embrace. Bruce leaned against him and pressed his face against the fabric. It felt good. It felt so good he wanted to claw his skin off and gouge his eyes out. It was an act, a filthy act, and he _knew_ it – but he was playing along because that was all he had. He was pathetic beyond words.

In a last spark of self-consciousness, he wanted to pull away ; but this time, Loki did not let him go. When Bruce glanced up hazily, the demi-god's smile was sharper at the edges. He stepped forward and Bruce found himself backed against the wall almost immediately – he hadn't realized it was so close behind him.

“Loki – ”

The demi-god leaned in and pressed his lips against his neck. It was not really a kiss, but Bruce's breath still hitched in his throat. His knees suddenly buckled and Loki braced an arm around his chest so he would fall more slowly on the floor, sliding against the wall. The demi-god smirked in the dark, then grabbed his collar with one hand to zip his uniform open with the other.

“No – _no,”_ Bruce choked. “Wait – ”

He gripped Loki's arms, but he could not even tell whether he was trying to push him away or just hanging on not to collapse completely. He was trembling with fatigue and tension ; it was all mixing in his head, slowing down his already heavy thoughts, and he had trouble telling if this was just a nightmare or yet another step down his path of horror and depravity. Loki pressed even closer as though trying to crawl under Bruce's skin, flattening him against the wall. He was still clutching at the doctor's collar, but his other hand brushed his bare skin, fingertips sliding down his stomach.

“Please !” Bruce breathed in panic.

Loki hummed, still smiling, then pushed his hand deeper under the thick Kevlar. Bruce braced against the wall and stifled a suffocating sob.

“Please,” he managed to beg again in a weak breath. “Please, not that. Not that.”

But the demi-god's fingers wrapped around him and Bruce could feel his body respond despite his will. He shivered violently with what sounded like a moan of pain. Scalding tears were running down his cheeks again, and he screwed his eyes shut, breathing raggedly. This was the first time he – since the accident, the _first_ time he – and it should not have _been_ like that, it was so wrong, it was so horribly wrong, and only months before, he would have transformed out of sheer loathing – but his entire life was rotting away. It was ridiculous to act like he could still salvage something. He could not find anything in him he wanted to save anyway. This was him. This was him, pressing against a naked wall of cement in the dark, with Loki's breath ghosting over his face.

The demi-god was efficient and implacable in this like in everything else. Bruce felt no pleasure really, just a mechanical burn building inside him, but it left him equally powerless and incoherent. Suddenly, he thumped his head against the hard concrete and went rigid, clenching his jaw as he fell apart into Loki's grip. Tears of humiliation rolled down his face again, but his hands slipped off the demi-god's shoulders, his release draining out every last drop of his energy, untying the strings that had held him up for the past hours. He let out a distressed breath and slumped forward, panting, barely conscious of Loki's hands suddenly gentle again as they tidied him up and zipped his uniform back on.

“Now,” a smooth, cold voice said above him. “You will sleep.”

Bruce was unable to resist as Loki heaved him up to carry him to the bare mattress. In a semi-conscious state, he felt he was dropped down ; as soon as he was left alone, he curled up on himself as much as he could, and plunged into darkness.

 

*

 

Later in the night, the miniature computer blinked on in the middle of the dark room, and started beeping weakly, like a beacon before a storm.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter. Sorry.  
> ...Also, sorry for what's in the chapter.
> 
> Please, do tell me what you thought of that one (you should see me fidgeting on the other side of the screen ^^')


	12. Strain

 

 

 

 

 

 

_“Okay, Legolas, brace yourself, 'cause I'm not in the mood for airlocks today.”_

_“Stark, be my_ fucking _guest.”_

 

*

 

Steve looked again at the spot Tony's algorithm had narrowed down on the maps. The results were still the same, no matter how many times he wished them away. Banner and Loki had apparently reached what looked like an uncharted Hydra base in the middle of the Great Basin Desert.

Natasha was standing next to him with her arms crossed.

“It's not that surprising,” she said quietly. “Loki first came here for the Tesseract.”

“And he roamed Midgard long before planning his attack,” Thor said grimly behind him. “It is no wonder he would make acquaintances with your enemies, Captain.”

Steve nodded absently.

“Besides,” Natasha went on, “Banner spent a long time in South America, and Hydra – ”

“I know,” the super-soldier cut off.

Although he was not there at the time, he did not need to be reminded of what had happened right after the Second World War. He knew the Nazis had fled across the sea when it seemed all was lost. He also thought he knew Banner would never associate with people like them. But as it seemed, the 21th century was intent on shattering his illusions one after the other.

“I'm sorry,” Natasha said.

He did not know if she was apologizing for her involuntary rudeness, for Banner's defection, or for Steve's life in general.

“I'm sorry, too,” he said, equally unsure of what he meant.

A bleep on the radar made them all look up.

“Director,” Hill called from across the control room. “Iron Man and Hawkeye are rapidly approaching.”

“Finally,” Fury groaned.

Steve sighed internally when he saw the dazzling lights of the armor outlining against the late night skies. He knew Tony was upset, but abandoning ship – and dragging Barton along – was certainly not going to help. At least they had gotten back in time.

Tapping absently at a screen, Fury raised a hand to his earpiece. “Get in here, Stark, we found – ”

Iron Man threw himself at the reinforced window and fired at it with both hands, shattering it in a million pieces. The depressurization alarm started to blare in panic as the air was sucked out of the control room ; a panel of steel began to slide down automatically to cover the sharp-edged hole. Hawkeye let go of Tony and rolled on the floor in a movement sharpened with practice, instantly getting up to stride towards Fury with cold anger radiating out of him in unnerving waves. Steve instinctively stepped in his way.

“Clint, what – ”

“ 'Would anyone care to explain this disaster ?' ” Clint snarled, spitting Fury's words back in his face without even noticing Steve. “ 'Anyone ?' ”

“ _That's what you asked us, right ?”_ Tony said, his voice metallic but vibrating with anger behind the mask. _“So how about_ you _give it a try, Nick ?”_

Every screen in the command room began to blink, then suddenly displayed the same screen shot – over and over, plastered across the walls, the windows, the computers, even the radar screens, a quartered, gory Loki, stretched open on a surgery table like a frog in science class, his face frozen in a scream of maddening pain.

Steve felt the blood leave his face. In the same time it took him to process what he was seeing, he began increasingly aware of the room's atmosphere buzzing with energy even though the pressurization was back to normal – _Thor._

For the first time in decades, Steve could only think, _oh shit._

His hair was already sticking on end with electricity. He almost said something but then he _felt_ – as though with a sixth sense – Thor struggling against himself not to tear the Helicarrier in half. Storm clouds were rolling around the ship like giant sharks circling a boat, only kept at bay by the god's focus. Thunder cracked and boomed outside the windows. No one dared to speak or move ; even Clint and Tony's anger was defused. They could only hold their breath, staring at the demi-god like they would have stared at a movement-triggered bomb.

Then slowly, excruciatingly slowly, the pressure in the command room decreased. Steve could almost hear Thor reasoning himself.He had been banished the last time he had not kept his anger under control; Steve guessed the demi-god was thinking of the innocent people aboard the Helicarrier – and maybe of the fact that Loki was, after all, Midgardian property. Theirs to study. Theirs to break.

Eventually, Thor exhaled and it was as though the whole world exhaled with him. Steve took it from here before anyone else could react.

“Director,” he said in the most controlled voice he could muster. “What is this ?”

Fury crossed his arms and glared back. “What does it goddamn _look_ like, Captain ?”

His sheer nerve seemed to suffocate the Avengers for a second, and he took the opportunity to go on. “Did you all think we would accommodate Loki for free ? I never intended to stand idle just because you disagreed with the previous Phase Two. Whether you like it or not, gentlemen, we. Need. To be. _Stronger.”_

 _“Slaughtering_ people will make us stronger ?” Steve growled.

“Asgardian meta-science will make us stronger,” Fury said icily. “And I don't recall any of you overly worrying about the details of Loki's new status.”

He glared at them all and their righteous anger suddenly stuck in their throats – because they found themselves unable to answer. Whether from resentment or contempt, none of them had bothered to dwell on Loki's fate indeed. They had all assumed he would deserve whatever could happen to him. Coulson's name, floating unspoken in the air, did not make things any simpler.

“Protecting Earth is my goddamn _job,”_ Fury hammered out. “And I cannot avoid getting my hands dirty. I'm the rag superheroes wipe _their_ hands on, so _they_ can stay nice and clean. You trusted SHIELD with Loki's fate because it was easier. You're _not_ entitled to whine about my methods _after_ the fact, when you couldn't bother to care in the first place.” He snorted. “Tell me, did you even go looking for this video, or did you stumble across it by chance ?”

Steve looked at Clint, whose jaw clenched even more tightly, and he knew the answer right away. Fury looked at them all once again, and once again, they could not match his glare.

Then Tony's face-plate slid up.

“You know what,” he said in an eerily calm voice. “You're right. We looked the other way.”

His armor whirred slightly when he took off his helmet.

“But _I_ spent my whole life running away from my responsibilities. Forty-two years of experience. So your little speech won't be enough to shut me up.”

“Which means ?” Fury said, unimpressed.

“Which means I still don't agree with this,” Tony said, jabbing his thumb at the screens. “And I never will. Call me a hypocrite, I don't care. Because that's not even the problem.”

They all glanced at him at that. Fury raised his eyebrows.

“Then what is ?”

“The problem,” Tony said in a sharp voice, “is that obviously, there is _one_ Avenger who didn't choose the easy road.”

He swallowed, then said, “His name is Bruce Banner.”

 

*

 

Bruce's eyes blinked open for no apparent reason. He slowly uncurled himself, then sat up on the bare mattress.

Loki was nowhere to be seen, which made him weak with unspoken relief. It was the middle of the night and the Milky Way was on display out the window. Bruce was strangely touched by its beauty for a second, before the harsh reality of his own situation came rushing back and wiped out the stars from the skies.

His eyes absently fell down on his sleeve – and he froze when he saw the tiny embroidery in white letters. _Stark Industries._ He raised a hand to his heart and felt the eagle of SHIELD under his fingers.

He could not wear these clothes. He would not insult the Avengers by donning their colors after his treason. It was a trifling thought, but there was nothing else he could do for them now that they were on the brink of war. And it mattered to him.

He got up and walked to one of the few living areas which had not been looted after Hydra was defeated, decades ago. He was not long to find pants and a shirt in the bottom of a dusty closet. He slipped out of the uniform Tony had created for the Hulk, folded it respectfully and tucked it on the top shelf. He then dressed quickly before going back to their improvised control room.

The first thing that struck him was that the stars were now _actually_ gone – the night was darkened by heavy clouds swelling like tumors in the sky. Brief pangs of lightning occasionally lit them up from the inside. Bruce turned to his miniature computer and felt his heart sinking in his chest at the sight of the flickering red light.

“They're coming,” he murmured.

“But we are ready.”

Bruce startled violently and looked up. Loki was standing by the window with his arms crossed behind his back.

“Yes,” the doctor said after his heart had calmed down. “I guess we are.”

He glanced at the taser on the table. Torn open and hooked to a dozen machines like a patient in a hospital. Now fueled by Earth energy _and_ Tesseract power. He looked back up, and saw Loki was smirking at him.

“I'll only fire it once,” Bruce warned softly. “And I still don't want to kill anyone.”

“In this I have no say,” Loki smiled. “I cannot operate this weapon. You are the one in control.”

Bruce had no strength left to laugh at this. He only nodded wearily.

“Here,” he said, turning to his workshop. “I've got something for you. In case we get separated.”

Loki slightly raised his eyebrows in curiosity and walked across the room to see. Bruce handed him a small contraption, silver and oval like a locket.

“It's a communication device,” he said absently. “Clip it somewhere near your mouth or throat. On something that can't be torn off.”

“I happen to wear just the right accessory,” Loki said with a wry smirk.

He took the com piece from Bruce's hands with delicate fingers, then strapped it to the silver chain gleaming at his pale neck. The doctor kept gazing at it absently for a strangely long moment.

Loki's hand cupped his chin to make him look up. Bruce stared in his eyes without any kind of revulsion this time, only tiredness. After what had happened, a slight touch like this made no difference.

“Banner,” Loki said gently, his thumb rubbing the doctor's jaw. “It shall be fine, I assure you. Tomorrow – it will all be over.”

Bruce somehow managed to smile.

“I know.”

He leaned into the demi-god's touch, ever so slightly.

“Thank you.”

Loki smiled, shark-like.

“Why, doctor,” he said. “You are very welcome.”

 

*

 

The problem was that, in the end, nothing had changed.

Whether Banner had a good reason or not, his acts could not be overlooked. He had let loose an insane mass-murderer who now had an extra reason to tear Midgard apart. Not to mention that small issue with the Hulk.

But the real predicament here was that the doctor had not just freed Loki ; he had ran away with him, carrying new and extremely dangerous weapons, to barricade in a Hydra base. All signs pointed to a long-term coalition between them, and _this_ was not only unjustifiable, but also extremely alarming. Banner and Loki _together_ were undeniably the greatest threat Earth had ever faced. And the Avengers were still required to take them both down.

Clint was leaning against the wall of the command room with his arms crossed. He didn't think he had ever lived through a silence so heavy and painful. Thor hadn't said a word since Loki's tortured image had appeared on the screens ; he looked calmer now, but the Helicarrier was still under the escort of impressive, rumbling thunder-clouds. Steve and Natasha were sitting in their chairs, staring in space. Tony was standing by the window, his armor neatly packed at his feet in a red suit-case.

And Clint couldn't help but wonder – _why_ had Banner stayed with Loki ? It couldn't possibly be out of pity or worry, since the demi-god probably wouldn't have allowed a mortal to care for him, especially when he could heal himself by magic. It couldn't be out of fear of retaliation from SHIELD – Banner had been on the run on his own for years ; he certainly didn't need help with that. Unless he had _decided_ to ask Loki for help against their countless, and now common, enemies. But this meant Bruce Banner had been won over – and for some reason, Clint just couldn't reconcile himself with this thought. Banner wouldn't have betrayed them so thoroughly out of nowhere, not after everything they had done for him. Something here wasn't _right._

Two things kept bothering Clint, though : Banner's phone, and Banner's glasses. The empty phone thing was ridiculous, really – no one could expect of the doctor to have a very active social life, Clint really should forget about it even though it kept bugging him – but the glasses ? The doctor obviously needed them to work, although he had probably learned to make do without them during his years on the run. Why hadn't he asked them back the second time Clint had retrieved them on the battlefield ?

He took them out of his hip pocket and fiddled with them for a moment, folding and unfolding the bows. It was amazing how he was associating their particular shape with Banner's face. He could almost see him staring at him from the other side of the empty lens. Hawkeye had always had an excellent photographic memory, of course, but still – when had Banner ever looked directly at him ? Not at SHIELD – he was always looking down or away with that small smile of his. Not during the meeting which had decided of the Hulk's fate – he had been glancing nervously around and avoiding everyone's gaze. So when –

Oh.

Right.

That very first day, while they feasted on dust, exhaustion and shwarma. He had caught up with Clint before they got out of the tiny restaurant. Yes, that time, that first time, he had been looking right in his eye, and there was no strain in his smile – at least until Clint brushed him off.

The archer shifted uneasily against the wall. By that time, he was just resurfacing after his mind-controlled episode, he was still half-high on adrenaline and exhaustion, and worried sick about what was waiting for him at SHIELD. Yeah, he had excuses, but still – he hadn't pushed Steve away when _he_ had come to talk to him, only minutes later.

And what had happened to Banner afterward ? Clint hadn't seen him in days, not until Loki was sent back actually, although he had been surprised not to see him at Coulson's funeral...

 

...had anyone told him about the funeral ?

 

“Sir,” Maria Hill suddenly said, breaking Clint's train of thoughts.

He looked up at her – he was the only one. Steve and Natasha remained motionless. Tony kept staring out the window. Thor could have very well been turned into stone. But she wasn't talking to any of them, anyway.

Fury straightened up. “Hill ?”

“We're almost on site. Should we get the Quinjets ready ?”

Nobody moved. Fury raised a sarcastic eyebrow at Tony.

“Let's hear what _Tony Stark_ has to say about it,” he snorted.

Tony did not turn at the mention of his name, but visibly clenched his jaw.

“You manipulated him,” he said under his breath.

Fury stared at him. “What now ?”

“You manipulated him,” Tony said, louder. “I thought it was weird that the security footage was mute, but those videos were just a decoy. An act. The only reason you got Banner to study Loki was because _you_ had realized _he_ would stand in your way no matter what – unless you had him believing he had it all under control.”

Fury put his hands flat on the dashboard. “Got anything else ?”

“I think that's more than enough,” Tony said in a low, hoarse voice.

Again, a silence so heavy Clint was surprised the Helicarrier didn't crash. Fury seemed immune to it though, as he asked with irony, “So what about those Quinjets ?”

As the silence stretched, he insisted, “Will we need them ? Or do you want to go and kneel before Loki right now, save us some time ?”

“Tony,” Steve said softly.

The billionaire turned to him with an edge of desperation in his dark eyes. Steve had this half-apologetic, half-determined look in his own gaze again.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “There's no other way.”

“There has to be,” Tony mumbled.

He waited, as though he expected someone to jump on his feet and yell _Eureka._ But the ugly truth was – there was no easy way out of this. Steve was right. They had to go out there and fight.

“Let me try to contact him,” Tony said.

“How ?” Hill asked.

The billionaire turned to her. “He built himself that miniature computer. I briefly scanned it when it – ” he clenched his jaw, “ – when it overrode the suit. Didn't last. We pushed it back. But my point is – I can reach it. I think.”

“You think,” Fury growled. “We're a bit short on time here, Stark.”

“Let him try,” Natasha snapped. “We owe it to Banner.”

She glared at the director. “We _all_ do.”

Fury had the grace to look down. _What a faker,_ Clint snorted inwardly. Maybe the director was right – maybe his job couldn't be done without deceiving and cheating others. The archer had once respected him for his manipulative skills.

But today, Banner's glasses just felt too heavy in his pocket.

 

*

 

Bruce's computer began bleeping frantically in middle of the bundle of wires. The doctor picked it up and squinted at the tiny screen.

“What is it ?” Loki said.

“Tony's trying to break my defenses,” Bruce answered softly.

The demi-god made a small noise of acknowledgment.

“They are very close, then.”

“Yeah.” He put the tiny device down. “I'll raise the shield. Ready ?”

“When you are,” Loki smirked.

Bruce took a deep breath, then grabbed the electro-magnetic command and pressed the button. A magnificent dome of pale blue light appeared above the old Hydra base, effectively shutting it from the outside world on every level.

 

*

 

“Shit,” Tony murmured.

“What ?” Clint asked quickly.

The billionaire looked at him in distress. “I lost contact.”

“Try again.”

“It's useless.” He was shaking his head with an edge of desperation in his voice. “It's not a performance struggle, he's – he's blurring the signal itself.”

“Well, then,” Fury said. “You had your chance, Stark. Now suit up.”

Tony's head snapped at him, his pupils blown with anger.

“You can hit me later,” the director said calmly. “Right now, I need you in the field.”

He glanced at Clint. “You too, Barton. Now get the Quinjet ready.”

The archer took a deep breath, but said nothing, and followed Tony out of the room.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha ! Ha !  
> Nothing like false hope. (Hate me, much ? :D)
> 
> Okay guys, this week-end is my birhday so I'm off to see my family. Which means next update will be very late on Sunday. For my birthday, I don't want any birthday wishes (seriously, don't) but I'd be delighted to find a huge bunch of comments waiting for me when I get back. :D
> 
> (I don't even know why I bother with these notes, you're already commenting the hell out of this fic anyway. Did I mention you were awesome ? Well I'm doing it now. YOU ARE SO AWESOME. THANK YOU.)


	13. Pod

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Now that it had all begun, Bruce could immerse himself in pure work, and it was much easier not to think about what he was doing, or what had happened during the last two days. After all, he had been sadly notorious for losing track of what really mattered when confronted to a scientific challenge. He was even worse than Tony that way.

But of course, he shouldn't be thinking about Tony.

“Alright,” he muttered. “The shield's in place ; I'll power up the taser.”

“Do you need me for anything ?” the demi-god asked in an amused voice.

“Keep an eye out,” the doctor answered, concentrated on his work. “The shield delimits the hollow core – what's protected from the taser. If any of them breaks through before I can fire, it'll be a problem.”

Loki frowned, crossing his arms as he leaned against the wall. “How could they break through ?”

“The force field weakens with use.”

“You have it running on very powerful sources of energy.”

Bruce glanced out the window at the nightmarish skies. “Yes. But since your big brother seems to be around, it might not be enough.”

The demi-god went slightly paler ; his eyes, though, darkened.

“I see,” he murmured.

Bruce looked up at him. “Can you fight him if needed ? I mean – you're depowered, and your general health...”

His voice trailed off under Loki's cold, implacable stare.

“Okay then,” he only mumbled under his breath, then focused on the taser again.

Loki kept glaring in space for a minute, his hands clenching around his own arms. After a minute, he said in a reluctant voice :

“I suppose I could use a weapon.”

“Something like a spear ?” Bruce said without looking up.

The demi-god quirked a half-smile. “Why, do you have any spares ?”

“Actually, yeah,” the doctor mumbled absently, still busy plugging wires between the computer and the taser and fiddling with both devices to balance the connection. “There are adamantium stems in the basement, near the cages.”

Loki nodded and straightened up to leave the room.

 

*

 

“ _Wow,”_ Clint heard Tony mutter on the coms as the Helicarrier's belly opened. _“No wonder he's unreachable.”_

The archer clenched his hands on the commands and swallowed. It was the same dome of light which had deployed in front of the SHIELD HQ, only a hundred times bigger. It was brighter, too, its color closer now to the dazzling blue of the Tesseract. Next to him, Steve had apparently drawn the same conclusions.

“Looks like this old base still had resources,” he muttered. “How come we never spotted it ?”

“It was abandoned. Inactivity is the best kind of stealth,” Natasha said from the copilot's seat. “We don't go looking into the desert unless hammers start falling from the sky.”

At least, it probably meant Hydra itself wasn't part of the equation. Clint flicked a switch and raised a hand to his ear. “Thor, Iron Man, ready to go ?”

_“Yes.”_

_“All set.”_

The Quinjet blasted off in the skies, followed by the shiny armor and the billowing red cape. The thunderclouds were more menacing than ever above their heads, and rumbled threateningly as they dashed through the cold air.

“Thor, buddy, keep that storm in check, will you ?” Clint said nervously.

 _“Worry not,”_ the Asgardian only answered.

He had never been so dry and taciturn before, but Clint understood. Even he still felt nauseous remembering Loki gored on the table, bathed in his own blood and screaming his lungs out.

“Iron Man,” Steve said. “Are we clear to land ?”

“ _Far as I can see, there's nothing waiting for us outside the forcefield,”_ Tony answered. _“And they can't fire at us while the shield's raised.”_

“Okay,” Steve said. “Hawkeye, let's land about a mile away. Iron Man, stay in the air, watch out for us.”

The Quinjet banked and initiated descent. Tony followed them until they were only a hundred feet from the ground, then blasted off again to circle above the Hydra base. Clint half-expected a laser beam or something to shoot him in mid-air, but the blue dome just kept simmering quietly under the skies like a giant jellyfish. Banner was somewhere inside it. So close – and yet so far ; because as they were now, the only way to reach him was to take him down.

They landed rather brutally on the rocky ground, and Natasha and Steve instantly unbuckled themselves to get out of the cabin. Clint stayed at the commands for a bit longer, readying the Quinjet for a quick set off if needed.

“ _Be careful, everyone,”_ Steve said. _“We can't know their intentions for sure, so let's assume the worst.”_

 _The worst,_ Clint thought darkly. Obviously, Loki would want to slaughter them all, and at this point even the archer couldn't really blame him – although to be fair, the demi-god _had_ started it. But Banner – what could he possibly want with them ?

Had Loki _really_ won him over ?

It sounded absurd. The demi-god must be forcing him somehow.But Clint could not think of a single thing Loki could have used as blackmail material, and once again, an answer wouldn't have changed anything to the fact that the only solution was to fight.

The archer got out of the aircraft, clenching his jaw at the sight of the blue dome.

“ _Okay,”_ Tony said. _“So I scanned the electro-magnetic shield and apparently, it's at 623% of its previous capacity. We'd just waste our ammo trying to break it.”_

“What about the Helicarrier ?” Natasha said. “She has superior fire power.”

“ _Not enough,”_ the billionaire said firmly.

“What about Mjölnir ?” Thor asked, his eyes never leaving the base where his brother was hidden.

There was a silence on the coms as Tony did another lap around the huge dome, a tiny goldfish darting next to a blue whale.

 _“Thunder's a bad idea,”_ he said finally. _“It would only power up the shield.”_

Thor snorted, but said nothing. Clint knew they were all remembering his first and famous fight against Tony, when his attempts to destroy the armor had only succeeded in making it strong enough to blast him away.

“ _But Mjölnir's own electric charge...”_ the billionaire went on, his voice slow as though he was running calculations on the side. _“Yeah. Yeah, that could totally work. Like magnets. It won't break the shield though, only disrupt it long enough for Thor to break through.”_

“Only Thor ? We can't let him go alone” Steve said. “Who knows what's waiting inside.”

Usually, Thor would have protested and boasted loudly in his booming voice; but this time, he said nothing and just kept staring at their target. Clint had no idea what he could be thinking about. He only hoped it didn't imply any embarrassing concepts, such as suddenly hammering various Avengers into the ground and joining the other team behind the shiny shield.

“ _He would just have to find the device itself and destroy it,”_ Tony protested. _“Then we could all go in and – wait, what the fuck is that ?”_

“What ?” Clint said, stepping forward.

 

_*_

 

Tony was coming back towards the Quinjet when an alarm beeped on the inside of his faceplate as something, resembling a spider web radiating from the base, highlighted in green on the screen.

“ – wait, what the fuck is that ?”

“ _It appears to be some kind of underground device, sir. It is connected to the main base, but its purpose remains obscure.”_

Tony's head snapped at the small group of the Avengers next to the aircraft. They had landed _right_ next to one of the nodes of the network, whose presence was so faint only Jarvis had been able to detect it after several minutes of scanning.

“Oh shit,” he breathed.

 

*

 

“What ?” Clint said, stepping forward.

_“Oh shit – Barton, freeze ! Don't fucking move !”_

“What are you – ”

_Click._

Clint looked down and saw he had stepped on something round and metallic hidden under the gravel.

He could only think _Oh, come on, landmines are so last century._

Perhaps if he had had more time, he would have remembered that the Hydra base was indeed half a century old. But before he could even formulate another thought, he was gone.

 

*

 

Less than a mile away, Bruce suddenly looked up when he heard a muffled sound in the distance. It sounded like some kind of explosion, but he could not tell for sure. He was not even sure whether it came from the outside or from the basement.

He waited for a second. Nothing more happened.

He slowly went back to work. There was not much time left.

 

*

 

Clint fell hard on a cold, damp floor.

He let out a groan out of surprise more than pain. When he raised himself on an elbow to look around, he froze in astonishment.

Okay, so that hadn't been a landmine at all.

He got up slowly, blinking as his eyes quickly adjusted to darkness. He was in some kind of cage, so narrow he barely had enough space to stand. Many others were standing in line to his right, all of them empty and covered in dust. The atmosphere was thick and musty, and the room very dark, lit up only by dim, harsh lights ; it looked like some sort of military basement.

Clint's blood curdled in his veins. He had been teleported _inside the base._

Just as it dawned on him, a cold, cruel voice rose in the dark.

“Agent Barton. How _nice_ of you to join us.”

The archer jumped and turned so briskly that he hit the gleaming bars – and cursed when a violent electric shock burst through him in retaliation.

“Oh, do that again,” Loki smirked, stepping out of the shadows. “You have no idea how cathartic it feels.”

He was holding a long, silver spear in his right hand, looking every bit the madman Clint remembered from the glass cell footage. He could hardly believe it was the same person who was, not long ago, writhing and sobbing on a surgery table.

“So _this_ is the 'pod barrier',” the demi-god murmured to himself, coming closer and closer. “Trapping outsiders inside. What an interesting idea.”

The archer instinctively wanted to recoil, but he was trapped indeed – he could feel the bars buzzing with threatening energy all around him. Loki just stood there with a vicious smirk, and Clint knew he should have been afraid, but instead it was fist-clenching anger he found burning inside him like a poison.

“Where's Banner ?” he growled.

The demi-god raised an ironic eyebrow at him. “Busy at the moment, I'm afraid.”

“What did you tell him ? What have you done to him ?” Clint said, coming as close from the bars as he could.

Loki's eyes widened ; the next second, he burst out laughing.

“What have _I_ done to him ?” he said, breathless with mirth. “And you dare calling yourself Hawkeye ?”

He shook his head and came even closer. He was only inches from the bars, now ; he could have touched Clint – or stabbed him – by just extending his arm.

“My dear archer,” he murmured. “You were better off as my slave.”

Clint violently hit the bars with his protected forearm and Loki stepped back with another laugh.

“Does the truth hurt so much ? Thor was the same – always blind to what he did not care to see.”

“What the hell are you talking about ?” the archer snarled.

Loki raised his eyebrows in fake casualness. “Shall I really spell it out for you, then ?”

“We found out about the torture, if that's what you mean. That's the only reason Banner followed you.”

“How you wish it was true,” the demi-god smirked. “But the reality is much less convenient, Barton. Banner would have come to me eventually, even without Fury's dishonesty.”

He came even closer and his voice lowered in a hiss. “You used him like a tool, only getting him out when needed. You denied him the most basic needs. You dressed him like your puppet and locked him inside his own mind – and _blamed_ him when he finally dared to stand for himself.”

All trace of smirk had vanished from his sharp features. “Exactly how long did you think it would last ? Or was the plan never to let him out again after I finally died on that steel table ?”

“What are you – of course we let him out !” Clint groaned.

“Really, your eyesight worries me more and more,” the demi-god sniggered. “Confusing him with that green monster ? Idiotic mortals, fascinated by a beast. It is but a hitch, a shadow of Banner – but none of you were smart enough to see past it.”

“You're crazy,” Clint said. “Hulk or Banner – it makes no difference. He's still awake inside.”

“Oh ?” he chimed. “And did _Banner_ tell you that ?”

The archer froze.

Loki's smirk widened and sharpened at the edges. He tilted his head on the side, watching as an expression of horrified doubt slowly crept up the Clint's face .

“Ah, yes,” he said. “Now you begin to see... after the damage has been done, naturally.”

Clint felt like the bars were closing around him.

“Let out only once in a while, only to be pushed into my cage,” the demi-god went on in a whisper. “Oh, I am certain the _beast_ looked happy – how could it not, when Banner was not left conscious long enough for his misery to sink in ? But Banner himself – deprived of any contact other than _me !”_

He couldn't hold in another peal of irrepressible laughter. “He struggled against the inevitable as long as he could, be sure of it. I can only guess he tried to reach out for you, but you could not bother to listen, could you ? He just annoyed you. Irritated you, even. You were only too eager for him to vanish again – because it was so much _simpler_ to deal with the plain, basic brain of that green beast, rather than with the exhausting depths of a brilliant, wounded mind.”

His smirk kept growing more and more cutting with ferocious relish. “Who could blame you, though ? Banner is extremely secretive – it tends to happen after being treated like a monster for years. Luckily for him, _you_ were not like the others. No, you did even better – you welcomed the monster and enslaved the man. I am impressed, really.”

There was a rush in Clint's ears, so loud that he could barely make out the demi-god's words. Suddenly, he was remembering every single one of Banner's little smiles ; every single hint of anxiety and confusion each time he woke up in the underground cell, every text that _should have been_ in this fucking _empty_ phone – and Banner's voice, that terribly wry laugh when he had murmured in the elevator, _“That's not how desperation works”_ ,as though he knew everything and more about desperation.

And now Clint could see, with appalling clarity, just how badly they had all fucked up. All because they were the Avengers, and the Avengers were nothing if not _righteous._ But shit, Banner had _asked_ for their help, right ? And they had delivered, right ? How grand, how generous of them, to accept a monster among their ranks ! They had dutifully swept Banner under the carpet like it sounded he was asking, without bothering to think about what it could possibly imply for him, without even asking for precisions first, without realizing they were tying him down mute, blind and deaf, because they were the fucking _Avengers,_ they had it all figured out, hadn't they ?

And Banner had found himself trapped. He had made it clear enough that they were his only hope of having a somewhat normal life, so of course he would think he was lucky enough to have been offered this awful arrangement, and that must be the reason he had endured it all, for months, every single constraint they forced on him, every single abuse – even when they had first locked him away for _five weeks straight,_ he had kept silent, because he thought it was still better than the alternative, because he was terrified they would get annoyed with him.

To the point of not daring to ask for his glasses back a second time.

The worst part was, the Avengers had behaved as though Banner's weeks in oblivion were a vacation, without ever stopping to think about it twice – because they were so busy with much more _important_ things. Yes, they vaguely thought about it as some kind of days off, as though Banner left to some foreign country while the Hulk was out, and led a very interesting life on the side – so interesting that Clint had fostered the illusion that the doctor didn't like being around or talking to them, when really he was cringing with _their_ oblivious rejection, too awkward and too shy to speak up. And really, they had left him even more resourceless than he had ever been during his years on the run – stripping him not only of basic human contact, but also of any delusion of freedom he might still entertain.

And they all agreed it was normal – so much that they had never discussed it. Not once. Banner – _Bruce,_ for fuck's sake, they hadn't even gotten to first-name basis with him _–_ never stood a chance. They had backed him in a corner and left him there, like a fucking potted plant, assuming that a bit of air once in a while was all he could reasonably need. They had acted like every other asshole Banner had ever dealt with – caring only about the Hulk. No, scratch that, they had been even worse since they had gotten him to think it was for the best, like in some kind of horribly twisted multiple Stockholm Syndrome. By giving Fury more or less free rein with Loki, they had left Bruce no choice but to turn into a traitor – _then_ made him feel unbearably guilty about it. They had almost literally paved his way towards Loki.

Clint caught himself wishing that Quinjet had crushed him during the earthquake.

And fuck, _he_ had been a complete dick to Banner – to _Bruce,_ goddammit – from day one. Always pushing him away because he was annoyed Hulk was not here instead. Had Clint – had anyone – ever asked Bruce if he needed anything ? If he was _okay ?_ God, it was the simplest question, something which should have come naturally, without thinking. But they couldn't even bother with _that._

The archer couldn't hold back a pained breath, and Loki's smile almost split his face in half, as though he was feeding on his distress.

“I know the likes of you, Barton,” he whispered. “You are now desperately seeking for someone else to blame. Say, why not Banner himself ? After all, he should have _told_ you. How silly of him, to keep his suffering to himself until he could not stand it anymore.”

Clint felt like Natasha had split his skull against an iron rod again. Only his acute awareness of the electricity running through the bars kept him from leaning against them in dizziness.

_“Clint ?!”_

That was not Loki's voice.

The archer looked up and thought he was tearing in half.

Bruce was frozen half-way down the stairs, staring at him as though he was seeing a ghost. He was wearing dull clothes in washed-out colors, that only brought out how red and haunted his eyes were. He looked shaken and sick, awfully pale, and thinner than usual. His hair was disheveled as though he had ran his hands through it countless times.

Clint was so suffocated with guilt he couldn't speak.

“Doctor,” Loki grinned. “We were just talking about you.”

He turned away from Clint and walked to Bruce, who slowly came down the last steps, his eyes never leaving the archer.

“Why is he here ?” he murmured, his voice hollow and hoarse.

“He was caught by the pod barrier,” Loki said, still smiling with malevolent glee. “I was just about to warn you – you did say it was crucial nobody should enter the shield ?”

As he was talking, his hand came to rest on Bruce's shoulder and slid _just_ a bit too high for the slight touch to remain innocent. The doctor stiffened and looked like he was about to burst into tears. He quickly looked away from Clint, but did nothing to stop Loki's hand from resting more heavily on his neck, as though claiming him as his property.

Clint thought he was going to be sick.

“Yes,” Bruce muttered. “Yes, he can't... he can't be here.”

Loki smiled like a cat and came even closer. “I can take care of it,” he said, lips brushing his ear.

Clint would have stopped breathing right now if he hadn't already done it a long time ago. This – this was just too awful. How could _Hawkeye_ have failed to see that Bruce was so desperate even the poisoned touch of an insane murderer would feel like a balm to him ?

It was only after a second that he realized Loki had just offered to kill him. If Bruce wanted him to beg for his life, he would only be too happy to get on his knees, although he certainly did not deserve even that opportunity. But the doctor didn't so much as glance towards him ; he only stared hard as Loki, whose smirk widened.

“Oh, very well,” he said, his hand dropping from Bruce's neck. “He is all yours.”

He turned away and sauntered up the stairs.

“Check the shield integrity – I thought I heard something,” the doctor called out before he could go. Loki nodded and disappeared.

Bruce turned back to Clint's cage. Once again, he didn't look at him or even acknowledge his presence ; he began fiddling with the controls of the teleportation pods, stubbornly staring at them and pressing his lips tight as though willing himself not to scream or cry or God knew what. The archer finally snapped out of it.

“Bruce,” he breathed, then realized he had no right to call him that. “I mean, doc – please, wait, just listen to me – ”

“Go away, Clint,” Bruce mumbled, and hit a button in the middle of the dashboard.

Clint felt like he was thrust in every direction at the same time ; his first instinct was to curl up on himself not to hit the electrified bars, although he knew the cage was so narrow he could not possibly avoid them.

But instead he landed in the gravel next to the Quinjet, under the thunderclouds rumbling above them all, like an omen of the doom they had brought upon themselves, like an incarnation of the guilt and shame weighing on their shoulders.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo, Clint finally got told a few home truths. What did you think ?
> 
> As usual, thank you so much for reading this. ^^ (Careful : spoilers in the comments here.)


	14. Crash

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Oh, my God – _Clint !”_

The archer straightened up with a wince ; a strong hand grabbed his forearm and helped him on his feet.

“Are you alright ?”

“Cap,” he breathed. “Where is everyone ? Where are the others ?”

 _“We're here, buddy,”_ Stark's mechanical voice answered with a hint of concern.

“Clint,” Natasha said. “What happened to you ? Where were you ?”

“Inside,” the archer panted. “In a cage inside the base.”

He was sweating and his mouth was filling with a thick, bitter liquid. He swallowed painfully, his hand clenching on Steve's glove.

“Tony,” he gasped.

“What ? What is it ?”the billionaire answered urgently.

Clint let go of Steve and turned to see him ; his face-plate was up, his eyes dark and worried.

“I finally figured it out,” the archer said. “The message.” He swallowed again. “But you're not gonna like it.”

“What message ?” Steve interrupted. “Wait, you mean – Banner's draft ? It did mean something ?”

“Yeah,” Clint murmured.

He felt so disgusted with himself he was trembling. Or maybe it was the aftermath of the powerful electric shock. Probably both, actually.

“The message,” he said, “is that there is no message. It was a real draft. And he left it in Tony's lab. Which means,” he swallowed yet again, “that he wasn't working to fight us, but to _help_ us. How else could he have possibly made such a stupid mistake ? Leaving the plans for his weapons lying around ? No – he just didn't care if Tony found them. Which means he trusted him. Which means he trusted us all. And we let him down.”

A heavy silence answered him.

“Clint... What are you saying ?” Natasha murmured.

“Just – just try to imagine what it could be like for him,” the archer said. “We locked him away for weeks on end. We completely isolated him, we... we treated him like we treated _Loki.”_

“But the Hulk – ” Tony began.

This was the worst part. The archer clenched his jaw and forced himself to look at them. “Does anyone here,” he said with an effort, in a trembling voice, “remember Banner mentioning he was still conscious of himself while being Hulk ?”

He looked around. He almost hoped someone would speak up, hoped Banner had misled them somehow, hoped it wasn't just their own idiotic fault.

But they all stayed silent. Clint briefly closed his eyes.

“We just took what we needed,” he muttered. “Like _everyone_ else he ever dealt with.”

Tony was so colorless it seemed his blood had been sucked out. Steve looked like he had scraped the star off his shield and found a swastika underneath. Natasha looked like someone had turned her inside out all over again, and Thor looked –

Clint stiffened. “Where's Thor ?”

His eyes darted right and left, but there were only rocks as far as he could see.

 _“Where_ is Thor ?” he repeated.

The Avengers looked terrified.

“We assumed you had been transported inside the base,” Natasha said in a breath. “We had to make a decision.”

“ _WHERE IS HE ?”_

“He's gone,” Tony said in the stiffest voice Clint had ever heard, so unlike the smooth, snarky billionaire he knew. “He's gone to destroy it.”

“But Bruce – Bruce sent me back, he – you don't get it ! Loki offered to _kill_ me, but Bruce sent me _back !_ We've got to call the attack off – tell Thor to get his ass back here _now !_

“He broke through the shield already,” Tony said, his voice so emotionless it sounded distorted somehow. “We can't reach him on the coms anymore.”

Clint turned to the blue dome of light, suddenly overwhelmed by the most intense feeling of refusal he had ever experienced. This had to be a joke. There _had_ to be some way –

“And there's no way we can get inside,” the billionaire whispered.

His face-plate slid down with a _clang_ and the archer knew it was to hide his eyes.

_“We can do nothing.”_

 

*

 

Bruce did not have to look up to know that Clint was gone.

He leaned against the dashboard with his eyes closed, trying to repress a sudden, crushing wave of self-loathing. Funny how he always thought he couldn't sink any lower. One would think that he would have learned, by now, that when it came to him, it could always get worse. But he had never experienced such suffocating shame. Even now, as his world was about to end, he could not get Clint's look out of his head. Instead of fading, the warmth of Loki's hand on his neck had grown into an unbearable burn, as though his bones had turned into branding irons ; but the memory of the archer's appalled expression was a thousand times worse.

Just how much could Clint possibly despise him now ?

Bruce took a sudden gasping breath, gripping the dashboard so hard his knuckles went white – for a second, he was encased in mind-numbing _pain,_ blocking everything else out, leaving him blind and mute and deaf.

He forced himself to reopen his eyes and stared hard at his hands, willing them to open as well, trying to get a grip on his shivering body. He had to focus, even though as he was now he could barely breathe. He couldn't afford to dissipate his energy in whining now that the end was near.

But – Clint's _eyes._

He clenched his jaw, but he could not stop a small sound of raw suffering from escaping him. It sounded so petty, so ridiculous, that the futility of his own pain finally allowed him to sober up. He had to forget about it. He had to forget about it all.

The small com device pinned to the collar of his shirt suddenly sizzled to life.

“ _Doctor – Thor just broke through the shield. How long before you can fire your weapon ?”_

Bruce forced some air back in his lungs and straightened up. “Two minutes,” he said. “Where are you ?”

“ _Outside,”_ Loki said sharply.

The communication ended.

A surge of adrenaline coursed through Bruce's veins, chasing his paralyzing numbness along with the memory of Clint's disgusted gaze. Loki would buy him some time, but that only meant he had to act even faster.

He exhaled a shaky breath, then ran up the stairs.

 

*

 

Thor landed hard in the dust and looked around him. Now that he was underneath the dome of light, the skies had turned from a threatening gray to an unearthly, shimmering blue. The old building looked even duller in comparison.

The main door suddenly opened. Loki was standing tall in the frame with piercing eyes, his right hand firmly clenched around a strange-looking silver spear which matched the gleaming chain around his neck.

“Thor,” he said as he stepped outside and slammed the door behind him, with the usual undertone of irony and disdain in his voice. “Would you terribly mind stepping outside this shield ?”

The demi-god clenched his fingers around Mjölnir's handle. “It is all over, Loki,” he said in a voice he wished firmer. “You could never defeat me before. You cannot hope to defeat me today.”

“Oh, concerned about my health ?” Loki smirked. “How kind of you.”

Although the words were heavy with nothing but contempt, Thor could not suppress a flinch. He had never seen his brother so eerily pale. Even though he knew it was absurd, he kept expecting the bright red of blood to seep out from underneath his sleeves, to drip from under his collar, to pool in a puddle at his feet. But of course, Loki would have willed his body to stay in one piece. He had always been extremely good at hiding his pain.

“I – ” Thor said. “I did not know.”

The words sounded empty even in his own ears.

“You did not _care_ to know,” Loki corrected calmly.

“I failed you,” Thor said painfully, stepping forward. “I admit it, brother. I did not think –”

“You never do,” the demi-god cut off. “What exactly did you _think_ would happen to me, when Odin sold me to Midgard as spoils of war ?”

He began walking slowly in a wide curve around him, coming gradually nearer. “I am tired of your poor excuses,” he said, cold and hard. “Tired of having this same conversation over and over again. Tired of you thinking I am in need of your help. I _never_ was, Thor. Not once did I rely on you, and that is the only reason I survived. Hah _–_ to think people deemed _me_ untrustworthy !”

“Loki,” Thor said with difficulty. “This is not about us, this time. You must release Banner.”

“Release him ?” Loki snarled, stopping a few feet from him. “You cannot fathom what I freed him from !”

“Then enlighten me.”

The demi-god looked like he was only barely keeping himself from pouncing on him.

“Can so thick of a mind comprehend loneliness ?” he scoffed. “Can so proud of a prince grasp the pain of those banished in the shadows ?”

His grip on the spear tightened as he began again walking around Thor, in smaller and smaller circles.

“I was banished too,” the thunderer said, slowly turning on himself, his eyes never leaving him.

“Ah, yes,” Loki sniggered. “Banished, only so you could rise stronger, brighter from the ashes ! Stark, Barton, Romanov, Rogers – they all accomplished it at some point indeed. But some of us were not deemed worthy of a prince's punishment.”

He seemed to have grown even more pallid.

“You know not what it is to be snubbed daily. To be ignored at best, most often scorned.” His voice was growing louder with every word. _“Indifference,_ Thor. The worst kind of contempt. You of all people have _never_ tasted its bitterness. You golden heroes think you can shove people away constantly, expecting them always to come back with a bow and a smile ; yet you are surprised the day you push them into a chasm too deep for them to climb out ! Yet you fail to understand why they turn against you ! Yet you keep thinking _you_ are the ones within the truth !”

“Loki,” Thor said softly. “We were speaking of Banner.”

“I _AM_ SPEAKING OF BANNER !” Loki howled.

The thunderer shook his head. “Loki,” he repeated, surprised himself at the ruefulness in his voice. “You are not faultless, but neither am I. Far from it. And there is no way I can apologize enough to you. But you cannot take revenge through Banner. You cannot keep him secluded and unhappy as to soothe your own wounds. You must let him go.”

“You are wrong,” Loki snarled. “You are so hopelessly wrong ! He _came_ to me !”

“Because you allowed it,” Thor said. “You took advantage of his confusion. Of his pain.”

“And who pained him in the first place ? You just cannot stand to have your toys taken away ! This is what it has always been about !”

“The Avengers may have wronged him in some way, I do not know,” Thor admitted. “But I know _you._ You made sure to crush his hopes as to forget about yours – as to make him like you. You want him to fall, only so you will not be alone in your hatred. You are dragging him down when there still is hope for him.”

His voice was but a whisper when he added, “Hope for you.”

Loki attacked so suddenly Thor barely had time to fend of the blow – the adamantium spear threw out sparks when it clashed against Mjölnir. The thunderer broke and stepped back, but his lost brother came at him with renewed fury, his attacks so quick and feverish Thor barely had time to think. When he realized he was pushed towards the edge of the blue dome, he finally began to fight back ; and as though he had been waiting for it, Loki grew even more ferocious and relentless. He was still lashing out when a beetle-like device clipped to his collar sizzled with Banner's soft, sad voice.

_“Loki ?”_

 

*

 

Bruce straightened up and looked at the dismantled taser for a second. The weapon was already buzzing with the formidable energy coursing through the wires ; he could almost see the earthquake blooming inside the tiny chamber, like a spring so impossibly compressed it would snap reality in half.

He turned away from the unsettling bundle of wires, the beeping computer and the shield generator, and raised a hand to his com piece as he began to walk slowly across the empty room.

“Loki ?”

A clanking sound answered him, then the demi-god's voice, breathy but still elegant and sharp.

_“Is it time ?”_

“Yes” Bruce said, roaming through the deserted hallways, the fingers of his other hand trailing across the naked walls.

“ _Thor is still within the shield, I might – ”_

“That's okay,” the doctor said. “There's been a change in the plans.”

Another clash of blades and shuffling of feet on the com. _“What ?”_

“I want you to go,” the doctor said quietly, still walking. “I want you to save yourself.”

“ _Banner,”_ Loki said in exasperation, _“we talked about this already – ”_

“No,” Bruce said calmly, but firmly. “Listen to me. There's a capsule of acid in the com piece I gave you. I've looked into your chain, and it should be enough to dissolve the links.”

Only a stunned silence answered him.

“It will hurt, but you've healed from worse,” Bruce went on, still walking. “Once you have your powers back, I want you to take Thor with you and teleport out of here.”

Loki was breathless from his ruthless fighting, but still tried to ask three questions at once.

“ _When – why – wait, you are not even making sense. Leave the shelter of your shield ?”_

Bruce gave a small smile Loki couldn't see.

“The shield's not a shelter,” he said. “It's a cage. I inverted the hollow core, which means the earthquake will actually be confined _inside_ the forcefield. Everything here – but only here – will be completely powdered.”

He heard Loki's breath hitch on the com. There was another awful clanking sound before he could actually speak again.

“ _You fool !”_ he snarled, breathless.“ _This place was your only chance ! You will be captured again !”_

“No,” Bruce said softly. “I won't.”

Loki's panting breath was his only answer for a long while, as he understood what Bruce implied.

 _“You said you would never use it to kill anybody,”_ he finally said in a low voice.

“I lied,” the doctor answered almost gleefully. “Although I hardly count.”

 _“Don't,”_ Loki said urgently. _“Don't do this.”_

“I'm sorry,” Bruce said. “It can't be stopped now. The earthquake's building up already. It'll burst in less than one minute.”

His aimless wandering had brought him back to the improvised control room. He leaned on the table and looked at the taser, which was buzzing even louder and vibrating with contained power.

“Listen,” he said. “Once I activate the acid capsule, the actual com device will be ruined. We won't able to talk anymore.”

He picked up the miniature computer and scrolled through the commands.

“You have thirty seconds to get out of here.”

“ _Banner – ”_

“Please,” Bruce cut off softly. “Don't leave Thor behind, that's all I ask of you.”

He pressed the button and the coms died out with a hissing sound.

 

*

 

Loki opened his mouth, but an unbearable burning sensation against his throat turned his words into an inarticulate cry. His fingers jumped to his neck and tugged frantically at the silver chain which crumbled in his hand like wheat straw, staining his palm with liquid fire.

Hissing with pain, he fell on one knee and conjured a healing spell – but instead of the miserable little stream of magic the necklace allowed, he was almost crushed down by a tidal wave of power, dancing unrestricted through his veins with savage joy, as though the magic itself celebrated its freedom. His wounds closed like it was nothing, and a rush of energy washed through him.

Breathless, Thor was looking at him with a mix of defiance and worry.

“Brother, what – ”

Loki jumped on his feet and violently grabbed the thunderer's arm before shrouding them both in golden magic. They reappeared in the cold desert, a few miles away from the blue shield.

Just in time.

With an impossibly low and loud creak, the smooth curves of the dome bent out of shape as the forcefield itself caved in ; underneath, the Hydra base tore in half and collapsed on itself as if the very earth was opening beneath it – which was _exactly_ what was happening. Not a single shiver broke through the shield ; but everything it sheltered was crumbling and keeling over in some kind of bottled apocalypse. It lasted for an awful minute, the impossible power of the earthquake ricocheting against the blue walls and towards the center of the dome, crushing and grinding the now shattered remains of the base all the more.

The ground convulsed for a few more seconds like the brisk shivers of a giant beast. The distorted shield flickered and blinked erratically, before vanishing altogether with a puff of dust.

 

Then, it all went extremely quiet.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's... there's no need to pick up these sharp objects... I mean, you all saw that coming, right ? Right ? No please, put down the scissors, I'm out of reach anyway – comment instead ! Aiiiiiie !


	15. Burial

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Loki released Thor's arm without thinking, his eyes wide and disbelieving.

The thunderer watched him take a few haphazard steps in the desert. The ruins were heavily smoking on the horizon.

Thor was at loss for words. The destruction of the base had been so sudden and unexpected that he would not have known what to say anyway, but what really left him speechless was Loki's astonished dismay. Obviously, none of this had been part of his brother's plans, and _that_ was stunning enough ; nothing had ever taken Loki by surprise in a thousand years – except for Odin's revelation of his true parentage, of too bleak memory.

Loki swallowed thickly, but did not utter a word. Already, his features were struggling to regain their composure, as if to spare the demi-god from the dishonor of displaying an uncontrolled emotion. He still looked disturbingly pale when Thor eventually dared to speak.

“That was no accident, was it ?” he said. “That was Banner's deed.”

The trickster's head snapped at him, his eyes gleaming with... those had to be tears of fury. He gritted his teeth, but said nothing and turned at the horizon again in repressed rage.

Whether Loki liked it or not, Thor had known him for long enough to read between the lines when he bothered to try.

“He led you on,” he said. “He never planned to attack us.”

Loki's fists clenched so hard his nails drew blood from his own palms, but kept silent.

“I know what you are thinking,” Thor said.

He looked up at the dreadful image of the ruins in the distance, and his own shoulders sagged.

Such absurd losses.

“And what am I thinking ?” Loki said in a hoarse murmur.

“You are thinking that I will now lecture you. Make you face the consequences of your acts. Put the blame on you, as usual.”

Loki gritted his teeth, but said nothing. Thor stepped closer from his strangely frail silhouette, not daring to put a hand on his shoulders.

“But this time, I won't,” he said softly.

Loki did not turn.

“This time, you should.”

 

*

 

A few minutes earlier, Tony's face-plate was sliding down, and the archer knew it was to hide his eyes.

_“We can do nothing.”_

 

Clint shot him a murderous look. “The _hell_ we can't, Tony.”

He wriggled his fingers like an expert pianist while his quiver whirred and clicked in his back, then took out a single arrow with a strange cylinder at the end. He unbuckled his quiver and let it fall in the dust ; his bow shortly followed.

“What are you doing ?” Natasha said in a low voice.

“Something,” Clint scoffed. “You don't have to come with me.”

“Clint – ” Steve began, but the archer turned away and began to walk resolutely towards the shimmering blue dome a mile away.

“Clint, there's no use – ”

 _“Wait,”_ Tony said. _“I'm picking up something.”_

“Radio contact ?” the archer said without stopping, spinning his only arrow in his hand before getting a firmer grip on it.

_“No, but – ”_

“Then I don't give a shit.”

_“Fuck, that's – ”_

“What ?” Natasha snapped.

 _“Seismic activity,”_ the billionaire breathed. _“Something's coming, something_ big –”

“Clint,” Steve called. “Come back here, we need to leave !”

“Yeah ?” the archer said, finally coming to a halt.

He took a deep breath, then turned to them with a half-smile. “I don't think I can let myself walk out of that one.”

_“Seriously, Barton, we have to – ”_

“Too late,” Clint said with a wince. “Sorry.”

Under his foot, the thing that wasn't a landmine let out a distinct _click._

 

_*_

 

Exactly twenty-eight seconds after Clint reappeared in the base, a bottled earthquake of approximately 11.2 magnitude on the Richter Scale struck down the building, which completely collapsed on itself when the very ground beneath it tore up, like a monstrous mouth, to swallow it down the depths of the Earth.

 

*

**T – 28 seconds**

 

Clint did not wait until the world had stopped spinning this time – as soon as he recognized the cage, he took off his jacket, protected his face, and smashed his arrow head on the electrified bars. The cylinder of acid hissed like a furious demon against the steel, and blue sparkles cracked in the suddenly branding air when the system short-circuited ; blisters bubbled on the archer's extended arm, but he barely felt it as he watched the bars begin to melt like ice on a sunny day.

 

**T – 21 seconds**

 

Upstairs, Bruce took off his now useless com piece and set it on the table, next to the taser shaking with bottled power. It was letting out a more and more deafening noise not unlike a space shuttle preparing for imminent take-off.

He closed his eyes and took a slow breath among the sound and the fury. Powerful as it was, the device would probably fail to kill the Hulk. But if he managed not to change, maybe he could make it.

He took another, very deep breath.

 

**T – 17 seconds**

 

The acid was still at work, but Clint just knew he could not afford to wait any longer – the whole building had begun to shake like a rattle. He smashed the eaten-away bars with his combat boot, forcing them to bend with painful grinding sounds. Thank God it wasn't adamantium.

When he forced his way through, the branding metal pressed against his shoulders, deeply burning his bare skin. He clenched his teeth against the pain, thrust himself forward and finally broke out of the teleportation pod.

 

**T – 10 seconds**

 

Bruce reopened his eyes and saw there were only ten seconds left.

He did not start a countdown out loud, did not make his goodbyes, neither did he see his life flash back before his eyes – once was quite enough already, thanks.

He just stared at the tiny black numbers on the computer's screen monitoring the seconds left before the biggest earthquake in history.

 

**T – 8 seconds**

 

Clint almost flew over the last steps, zipping his jacket back on along the way, and burst out on the ground floor, panting, looking frantically around, and Loki had been right to call him blind because he just couldn't see the doctor anywhere –

“BRUCE !”

 

**T – 6 seconds**

 

Bruce thought his heart had stopped.

He turned and saw Clint freezing wide-eyed in the doorframe.

 

**T – 5 seconds**

 

 _“What are you doing here ?”_ Bruce yelled at him.

 

**T – 4 seconds**

 

He threw himself at Clint and gripped his shoulders to shake him. “You can't be here, you must – ”

 

**T – 3 seconds**

 

“There's no time – ”

 

**T – 2 seconds**

 

Bruce shoved Clint against the wall just as a gaping crack exploded across the ceiling –

 

**T – 1 seconds**

 

There was an earth-shattering howl –

 

**T – 0 seconds**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, yeah yeah yeah, I think I'll stop the chapter riiiight - here ! Perfect.


	16. Depth

 

 

 

 

 

 

For what felt like both an eternity and a instant, it was just complete chaos. The available sonorous space was completely clogged with apocalyptic, maddening racket. It was now impossible to tell up from down. There was nothing to be seen but shifting showers of impossibly huge rocks, blocks of earth or concrete tumbling down as though the planet was actually flat and toppling over. Someone violently pinned Clint to a hot, scratchy surface, chasing the air out of his lungs and something huge was curling up around him and the entire world was deafening and blurry – then very quiet and dark.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_“Clint !”_

 

The archer tried to cough, and choked when his painful breathing was stopped by something very heavy pressing against his ribs. He wanted to reach for his earpiece, but it was gone.

 

_“Clint ! Wake up, Clint !”_

 

The voice was so deep and anxious it pierced through his foggy unconsciousness. He pushed blindly at the weight pinning him to the ground digging in his back – and let out a surprised breath when he actually managed to make it move. He pushed harder, and the plate of concrete fell on the side, allowing him to fill his lungs with the hoarse moan of a man rising from the grave. At the second inspiration, he realized he ached all over and that at least five of his ribs must be either cracked or broken. He opened his eyes, but everything was dark. Something huge was breathing heavily just above him, though.

“Hulk ?” he murmured.

 

A moan answered him, followed by a terrible creak as though a thousand sheet steels and rods were screaming in unison.

“Heavy,” Hulk groaned above him. _“Heavy !”_

“Oh shit – hold on, buddy,” the archer murmured, propping himself up on his elbows with difficulty. He pulled out a few emergency glow sticks from his pocket and flexed them with a brisk _crack._ A dim light rose and he was able to look around.

There was not much to see. They were buried among the debris, in an impossible clear space existing only thanks to the Hulk holding a roof of ruins above their heads, so close Clint could not have stood up. Hulk was visibly straining in effort, drops of sweat rolling down his face, his big eyes desperately hanging on Clint's. The archer had never seen him struggling like this before – his strength had just seemed inexhaustible until then. Maybe the recent events had weakened him somehow.

Or maybe there were tons and tons and _tons_ of concrete above them.

There was another creak and Hulk cringed under the unearthly weight he was carrying on his shoulders. “Clint,” he said plaintively.

“I don't know,” the archer said in desperation. “I don't know how I can help you, buddy, just hang on, just don't – ” his eyes caught a glimpse of silver in a corner. “Wait – wait – do you think you can move to the right ? Just – just a bit, so I can free my legs – careful... don't rush it, take your time, just – careful...”

The Hulk let out a long, pained growl when the ceiling screamed again, but only bowed his massive head with a scowl and endured it. Clint could almost feel, too, the monstrous weight threatening to crush them. “It's gonna be okay” he panted. “Hang in there. Just a second.”

He crawled to the right as far as he could despite the various and very creative protestations of his entire body, and extended his arm. His fingers clenched on the rod on his first try ; when he pulled, dozen others fell down from a breach in the blocks of concrete. Clint tightened his grip on the first adamantium stem, then with a sudden tug and a sharp growl of effort blocked it between the ground and ceiling, like he would have put a stick in a crocodile's mouth. He reiterated with a second one, then a third, then a fourth, then moved on the other side of the Hulk and stuck there the remaining stems. Fuck, this was _adamantium,_ something which had actually been conceived to restrain the Hulk in the first place. If this couldn't help, nothing would.

“Hey, Jade Jaws,” he panted. “Am I being useful here ?”

Hulk groaned again, but when his shoulders sagged slightly, no teeth-grinding sound echoed above their heads. The concrete actually whined and creaked again when he completely slumped forward, but it didn't collapse.

Clint did, falling back on his elbows against the sharp rocks with a shaky breath. Hulk was breathing heavily too, trembling and resting on his arms not to flatten the archer under his weight. He looked tired, but there was something more...

He looked _ashamed._

“You alright ?” the archer said breathlessly.

Hulk nodded. He was still looking down, like a tiny child who got caught.

“Cupid,” he whispered, so small Clint barely heard it.

His eyes closed and he hunched even more on himself. After a second, the archer realized he was actually shrinking. The bright green of his skin was fading, turning into an unhealthy, pallid white. Clint just had time to grab Banner's shoulders before the doctor could collapse into the cutting chunks of gravel.

God.

He had forgotten how Banner _looked_ like after a transformation when he was not wearing his battle gear.

So thin, so pale. The bare chest. The shredded pants pooling around his hips. He looked not only frail, but also humiliated. As though someone had ripped his clothes to expose his body to a laughing crowd. And for years, it had been _exactly_ like that for him – waking up in strange, foreign places, not knowing what had happened, not knowing what would come next, lost and naked, vulnerable, filled with this uncontrollable rage, being terrified with himself, being crushed with shame and guilt and terror, being chased, being completely, desperately _alone,_ for years and years and _years._

They had forgotten Hulk meant Banner. They had forgotten Banner meant Hulk. They had forgotten the unspeakable violence at the origin of such unbelievable power. They had forgotten the suffering and sadness Bruce had borne for so long. They had covered it under layers of thick Kevlar, hidden it beneath bulletproof black fabric ; but it had stayed there beneath, and taken advantage of the shade to effectively eat away Bruce to the core. Now he was unconscious and shivering in Clint's grip, and Clint could not blame himself enough for having been so unforgivably _blind._

 

*

 

In his dream, Bruce was giving an introductory course of Applied and Theoretical Physics to an empty amphitheater.

“So as you can see,” he said, pointing at an equation on the black board, “inverting the taser's hollow core was just a matter of pure math. Loki was the real unknown variable here.”

When he turned back to the room, the Avengers were all sitting in the front row. Clint looked dubious with his arms crossed, Natasha's expression was unreadable as usual, Steve tried to concentrate and Tony had a smile in the corner of his mouth.

Bruce licked his lips and went on, his voice dry with nervousness. “So, um,” he said. “First I needed to be able to remove his chain at any given time. The trick was to make it seem as though clipping the capsule of acid on his necklace was _his_ idea.”

“Big deal,” Tony snorted. “He trusted you. Of course he did as he was told.”

“This is what you do, Banner, isn't it ?” Natasha said in a low voice. “Deceiving your allies ?”

Bruce swallowed. “Um,” he said. “Yeah. So. The – the most complicated part was to draw him out of the building, of course. I figured his brother would be sufficient bait. And indeed, he barely needed a push to go out and fight him.”

“Clever,” Loki said with cutting irony.

He had taken the place of the Avengers without a sound, sitting in an elegant pose with that cold, haughty expression of his.

“So when you recalibrated the shield, you _made it_ so it would yield before Mjölnir,” he said.

Bruce realized he was wringing his hands. “Um, yes,” he said. “Yes, exactly. Excellent guess.”

“There is nothing excellent about this,” the demi-god said icily. “Your plan is unforgivably flawed.”

The doctor swallowed again around the lump in his throat. He was so nervous his stomach was heaving with nausea, and his own skin felt constricting, too narrow, as though he was trapped inside his own body.

“How can you know I was gone when you fired ?” Loki said in the ironic tone of a vicious critic. “How can you be sure I took Thor with me ?”

“I – ” Bruce said in a weak voice. “I'm sure you did. I knew you would.”

Loki showed his teeth.

“We are dead, Banner. The both of us. Crushed like nuts in a grinder, because of you – _you,_ who very obviously _survived.”_

“No !” the doctor almost yelled. “I mean – okay, I'm still here, I – I didn't die on the spot, but it was a long shot anyway... I – I still buried myself under miles of concrete. I won't able to get out before it's too late.”

“So your plan is to starve underground like a trapped dog,” Loki said. “A brilliant ending for a most brilliant life, indeed.”

He got up and Bruce instinctively took a step back.

“Such a _shame_ this perfection had to cause yet another death,” the demi-god added with a sharp grin.

With unsettling swiftness, he backed the doctor against the black board. It was cold and smooth as ebony ice, and the equations had all disappeared from its surface, leaving it so dark it seemed to suck in the light itself.

“You don't remember ?” Loki smirked.

“I – ” Bruce stammered, breathless with the sudden deadly cold seeping inside his bones. “What ?”

“ _Barton_ , of course,” the demi-god said with wicked delight. “He followed you underground and shall now follow me in the grave, doctor. You will have to watch him die slowly. Excruciatingly. For days on end, knowing it to be all your fault.”

His smile was so wide it seemed to stretch across the room.

“You betrayed us,” Tony said, back in the front row with the others.

“You betrayed me,” Loki said, taking their place again.

“You doomed me,” Clint said.

He was all alone before Bruce, the room empty even of furniture now, just a dark, cubic space for them to stand in the middle, so cold it hurt like a blade.

“And now you are running away _again,”_ the archer said with a disgusted scowl. “Hiding away in your dreams like a _child !”_

“Coward,” Loki murmured.

“Traitor,” Tony added.

“Weak,” Natasha hissed.

“Worthless,” Steve said sternly.

Then it was just Clint again, backing Bruce against the wall like Loki had, his gray eyes piercing with contempt.

“You are a complete failure,” he snarled.

Bruce realized he was shirtless, and that his skin was growing encrusted in frost. He tried to speak, but his tongue was frozen. He was pinned to the icy wall with steel restraints, and his very body was fading in ice, air freezing in his lungs. He choked on pain and screwed his eyes shut –

“Oh no you won't,” the archer growled, violently grabbing his face. “This is your punishment, Banner. Open your eyes, you spineless freak, and see for yourself what you've done. Face it, for once in your miserable life.”

Bruce wanted to speak up, to cry, to beg for mercy, but everything was so cold, so unearthly cold, and it hurt like a thousand blades –

 _“Open your eyes,_ I said !”

 

*

 

Bruce opened his eyes, but Barton did not fade away – in fact, he found himself mere inches from him.

A panicked glance around was enough to realize that they were both buried in the ruins just like Loki had said. Bruce felt as though a hole had been pierced in his stomach and his insides were spilling on the cold floor.

The archer was staring at him without a word. A strange, white light reflected in his gray eyes, making them more piercing and intense than ever ; his lips were pinched, his nostrils flaring. His strong hands were like a vice around the doctor's shoulders.

Bruce's eyes fluttered shut again, and he dropped his head, unable to match his gaze. It was over. He deserved whatever Clint would shout at him, whichever blows would land on him. He deserved his contempt for the general disaster that was his life, and for the ugly, repugnant touch he had allowed to linger on his neck, on his back, under his shirt. And between his legs. Even now, at the bottom of the world, with Death watching from a corner, he still wished Clint had never seen any of it. Now that the time had come to pay, he was almost relieved to let his shame devour him away, bit by bit. He was not fit anymore to dyke up this tidal wave.

Bruce felt himself being violently tugged forward. He only had the time to take a sharp breath –

– before Clint _hugged_ him.

 

Wrapped his arms around him and held tight, tight, with some kind of desperation, as though he needed it more than he needed the air he breathed.

 

“Bruce,” he huffed against his neck, his voice raw and broken.

Bruce's eyes were wide open in complete confusion. He must be still dreaming. Or it was some kind of near-death experience. But it felt so real – Clint was warm and heavy against him, the zippers of his vest scraping his bare skin. Yet it was so utterly nonsensical Bruce could hardly process it.

He let out a gasping breath and the archer immediately pulled back to look at him in concern.

“Are you alright ?” he asked, then immediately winced. “I mean – relatively speaking. Physically. Of course, usually you don't get hurt, but with everything that happened before I don't think I can ever presume of any – ” he took a breath. “Sorry. I'll start again. Are you alright ?”

Bruce was completely at sea for another moment, but gradually, it all became horribly clear. It was not so surprising that Clint should worry about him – he had come back to _help_ him, like any hero would have. He might even think Bruce was the victim in this ; think Loki had fired the taser before running away and leaving the doctor to die. Bruce suddenly felt like a complete idiot. Why had he not deactivated the pod barrier ? He should have known something like that was bound to happen. He should have destroyed it the second after sending the archer back outside. But he had wallowed in self-loathing instead, and left the door open for Clint to walk right back into the trap he had built for himself.

Stellar job, Banner.

He shook his head with a self-deprecating scoff and softly pulled away. “Jesus,” he sighed. “I really fucked up all the way, uh ?”

Clint just stared at him. Bruce felt his automatic wry smile tugging at his lips. “I'm sorry you got sucked under with me. I swear it wasn't...” Words failed him for a second ; exhaustion and despair were weighing on him like twin burdens on his shoulders. “I thought I was the only one left in the building.”

“Wait – just wait” Clint breathed. _“What ?”_

Here it came. Bruce looked down – he could not bring himself to meet his gaze.

“You blew it up on _purpose ?”_

“Yes,” he whispered, throat dry. “I never... I never thought you'd come back.”

He waved his hand around with a bitter chuckle. “And now we're miles down from the surface, and you're stuck with me until we both starve.” He dropped his hand. “I'm really sorry,” he said, and his voice cracked. “I – I know it won't make a difference, but for what it's worth – ”

“Bruce,” Clint suddenly blurted out. “Shut the _fuck_ up.”

Bruce flinched and stopped his rambling.

“Look at me,” the archer ordered, branding anger simmering in his words.

The doctor raised tired eyes at him. Clint looked absolutely furious indeed.

“Are you honestly apologizing to _me_ because I drove _you_ to suicide ?”

 

Bruce just blinked.

 

“Because we made you think it was your only option ? Your _best_ option ?”

The doctor tried to register the question, he really did, but his brain just stammered and failed as though the words did not even fit together.

“Bruce – ” Clint repeated in a pained voice. “I can't...”

He shook his head with a frustrated scoff and opened his hands, letting them fall flat on his thighs in a helpless gesture. “I don't even know where to start,” he said wryly. “God – there's nothing I can say in my defense. Nothing at all.”

Bruce opened his mouth but stayed speechless for a long time, because he was now so completely lost that even expressing his confusion might be risky, for all he knew.

“...did you hear what I said ?” he finally asked.

Clint gave him a sad, bitter smile. “Yes, Bruce. I heard you. Only a few months late.”

Bruce stared at him.

“I don't – ” he finally murmured. “I don't understand.”

“I can see you don't,” the archer said wearily. “I'm sorry about that, too.”

He looked at Bruce, and something shifted inside the doctor's stomach, because for the first time, he was seeing in Clint's eyes something he had never ceased to look for – only because his subconscious had kept insisting it was there. Something different than the usual anger and irritation. Something more than the inexplicable pain and regrets clouding those eyes now. Something even _more_ inexplicable than them, actually.

Clint leaned against the sharp rocks with a wince. “I completely fucked up, and I'm not sure I can ever make it up to you,” he said. “But I damn well intend to try, even if that's the last thing I ever do.”

“Make up,” Bruce repeated, dumbfounded. “For – what ?”

Clint let out a deep sigh.

“For the way we've treated you,” he murmured. “Among other things.”

The doctor had no idea what to say to that. His confusion just kept growing. It seemed like his world had just switched from complete horror to extreme surrealism. Without even knowing where it was coming from, he heard himself say :

“But I'm not angry.”

Clint gave the most mirthless laugh Bruce had ever heard. “See,” he said, “that's exactly the problem.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what did you think ? :)


	17. Wait

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bruce's matter-of-fact revelation had plunged Clint into yet unexplored depths of self-bashing. Because for all his belated epiphany, for all his desperate resolutions to make it all better, he had been utterly wrong _again._

After realizing Banner had a thousand good reasons to work against them, Clint had come to terms with the idea – hell, had it been him in his place, he probably would have broken Loki out after only two days and set the world on fire with maniacal peals of vengeful laughter. But as it turned out, Bruce had _never_ given in. Bruce had never broken. Bruce Fucking Banner did not _hurt_ people. He always took it all on himself, no matter what, whether it was fair or not – he was the only true selfless hero of their goddamn team, and Clint still hadn't be able to realize it until Bruce outright spelled it out for him – the doctor had even made sure _Loki_ was safe before unleashing hell on himself, goddammit.

Clint would really have failed him until the very end.

The only thing that kept him from breaking down in sobs and begging for forgiveness was the painful knowledge than none of his whining and much-too-late repentance was going to help Bruce. The poor guy was already confused enough, and Clint certainly couldn't blame him. He wanted to explain it all, to pull Bruce out of his swamp of wrongful shame, but he honestly had no idea where to start.

He still had to say something, because Bruce kept staring at him like a little boy lost in a dark forest, and Clint felt worse by the second for leaving him in this miserable state.

“Look,” he said with an effort. “I want to apologize properly, but I can't do it here, because... well, first of all, I guess the others should be there, too. And also because you're so confused right now that you might do something stupid, like forgive me.”

Bruce stared at him for another second, then he looked down and his slight smile crept back up, as though he couldn't help it. Clint didn't think it was a defense mechanism ; it was just Bruce's deep-rooted kindness and self-depreciation seeping out. Nobody should have been able to smile in his situation, but there he was.

“Confused is... kind of an understatement,” Bruce murmured.

He shifted uncomfortably against the rocks. “But, Clint” he said, low. “What you just said – ” his voice trailed off. When he spoke again, he sounded even more weary and rueful. “You know we won't be able to get out of here.”

“Wrong,” Clint said firmly. “We're getting out of here. I can tell you this at the very least – there is absolutely no way in hell we're dying here because of me, with you thinking it's because of _you.”_

Bruce was still smiling. “You don't have to do that, you know.”

“Do what ?”

“Lie to me. Be nice. I don't know.”

The doctor hugged himself tightly and suppressed a shiver. “I'm the one who put us here, Clint. I calibrated the taser so the entire building would collapse in a giant split. We've got miles and miles of unbalanced debris above our heads. Anyone tries to dig us out, the whole thing will –”

“You're shaking,” Clint cut off.

Bruce blinked at him again, and his ruffled, owlish look could have drawn a fond smile out of the archer, had he not been busy to bang his head on a metaphorical wall yet again.

“Fuck, I'm a complete moron,” he grumbled, unzipping his jacket and shrugging it off. “It's freezing in here and you're half-naked.”

He handed it to Bruce, who just kept staring at him as though Clint had started speaking in Hebrew.

“I know, stinking Kevlar and all – but please, put it on ?” the archer winced. “You're making me cold here.”

Bruce hesitated, then finally reached to take it and stiffly slipped it on, fighting back a slight huff of bliss when the still-warm fabric enveloped him. He held the tactical jacket tight around him, then gingerly looked up at Clint, as though he wasn't sure he hadn't misread something.

Nobody should have been so surprised at such a small gesture of kindness.

Bruce shivered again and, since Clint wasn't ripping it off his shoulders after all, wrapped himself even more tightly. The coldness of the desert was seeping in, even down here in the bowels of Earth ; thin as Bruce was, it wasn't surprising that he should be getting warm so slowly. Another thing Clint hadn't bothered to see, along with the dark rings under his eyes and the way he kept shrinking on himself.

“Are you okay ?” he asked wearily.

He felt like he could never ask him this enough.

Bruce's gaze reflected a mix of wariness and gratitude, and something furious and sad clenched inside Clint's chest in response.

“I'm...” the doctor began, but whatever he was about to say was lost as his eyes widened. “Your shoulders.”

Clint remembered his peeling, bloody, blistered skin. “Oh – yeah,” he winced. “I used a vial of acid to get out of the pod – it was that or an explosive arrow. I guess it did get a little messy.”

The doctor opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He tried again, shook his head with a scoff, but eventually all he could get out was, _“Why ?”_

Clint looked in earnest at him and chose his words carefully.

“Because... I couldn't have lived with myself otherwise,” he said. “I'm so glad I fell down here with you. This is the honest truth. I wouldn't want to be anywhere else.” He quirked a wry smile. “Well, unless you could come with me, of course.”

Bruce's pale cheeks colored slightly. “This is – ” He sighed and closed his eyes. “This is a dream.”

Clint's heart clenched again – clenched _physically,_ taking his breath away for a second. He gritted his teeth against it.

“It's not,” he said painfully. “Bruce...”

Without thinking, he reached out to him, but the doctor flinched back like a wild animal. “No,” he gasped. “Please – stop it. I know I have no right to ask you for anything, but – ” He sounded like he was on the verge of tears. “Please, stop.”

Clint looked at him, and a lump swelled in his throat until he felt like it was completely clogged. He could never forgive himself for this. He could never wipe that stain. He was a sniper and a master assassin, but what he had done to Bruce was infinitely more cruel and wrong than everything he'd done before. He had taken this kind, generous man, shattered him in a million pieces, and let him blame himself for the mess.

There were no tears on Bruce's cheeks, no sobs shaking him, but he could as well have been crying. Clint bit the inside of his cheek so fiercely his mouth filled with the taste of blood, then grabbed Bruce's upper arms and tugged him close. The doctor tensed in his grip, but did nothing to pull away.

“Bruce,” he murmured, slightly shaking him. “I'm here. I'm real.”

Bruce took a shivering breath and held it.

“I wish...” Clint's throat tightened even more. “I wish I could tell you we sincerely thought you were fine. I wish I could tell you that we've been led on, and that it was an honest mistake from our part.”

The doctor had gone very still and Clint could almost feel him listening with frightening intensity. “But the sad truth is – it's all our fault, and we don't have a single fucking excuse. We just assumed everything was okay. We didn't spare a thought for you – we didn't try. We didn't bother. We just... let it be, until it was too late.”

Bruce glanced up at him. Clint almost hoped to find his eyes filled with a righteous anger, even a flashing-green indignation ; but there was nothing here, except for confusion and sadness. He was still clenching at the doctor's shoulders ; but it became obvious that he wouldn't relax, so he let him go.

“I'm not pretending,” he said. “I swear I'm not. And we're not going to die here, Bruce.”

Bruce gave a faint, bitter chuckle. “I told you,” he whispered. “No need to lie.”

“Do I look like I'm fucking joking ?” Clint snapped, suddenly disproportionately angry. “This is not wishful thinking, Bruce. This is a promise. We _will_ leave this freezing shithole, because the Universe fucking owes it to you.”

And he was absolutely convinced of that. He was absolutely positive they would not die, although their situation was indeed pretty desperate and he could not think of a single way for them to break out. In his stubborn mind, those were just details, because if really Bruce Banner was allowed to starve to death, away from the sun and torturing himself until the very end after everything he had been through, then everyone might as well give up now and jump off the planet.

“I'm just going to assume you got hit on the head,” Bruce said with a tiny smile.

“Whatever,” Clint said, huffing in frustration. After a second of reflection, he added, “Although this kind of thing has been proved to _help_ in my case, you know.”

The doctor huffed another sad laugh. “Alright” he said softly. “So what do we do now ?”

“We wait,” Clint declared. “There are people out there coming for us.”

“I don't think so,” Bruce murmured. “Clint – I'm sorry, but they're going to assume you're dead. And if they try anything, everything will collapse anyway.” He looked at the thin adamantium pillars scattered around the place.

He was completely right, of course, and Clint felt almost wickedly gleeful when he realized he simply couldn't give a shit.

“Yeah, good idea, let's split up the work,” he said cheerfully. “You do the negative thinking, and I'll be in charge of all the hoping, since you're a little rusty with that. Not that I can blame you.”

Bruce couldn't help chuckling again. “You're crazy,” he said ruefully.

“And you're disabused. I say we complete each other perfectly.” Clint grinned. “Let's just keep it that way, and we'll wait our way out of here in no time.”

Bruce shook his head without a word, even though he was still smiling. He leaned against the rocks, curling up a bit on himself.

“Bruce,” Clint said after a moment, serious again. “It's gonna be okay.”

The doctor nodded. It was obvious that he was not believing a word the archer had said. But after a long while, he whispered, so low Clint could barely hear him :

“Thanks for the jacket.”

 

*

 

Bruce was tired.

He was incredibly, stunningly, absolutely tired. He felt like Clint's jacket around him was the only thing keeping him in one piece.

Everything the archer had said was mixing in his head in a bundle of stray thoughts chafing together. Something inside Bruce stubbornly insisted that he was dealing with the illusion of a friendly, caring Clint Barton, sprouted from his ill subconscious because he just could not stand the thought of being buried alive with nothing else to do but wait all alone until the end. If really this was a dream, it was a damn selfish one. But reality was even worse, because despite the protestations of his mind, it seemed like Clint was really here, and it meant Bruce Banner was an even lower person, because he could not help feeling desperately _glad._ Barton was going to die, locked up with the very man who had caused his doom, and Bruce was _grateful for the company._

He guessed he should be thankful he was so exhausted he could not fuel his self-loathing too much.

The aftershock of his transformation – and of the stress and anguish and horror and despair which had just kept piling up during the past days – was not enough to explain his lassitude. If he had to be honest with himself, Clint Barton was the real cause of his dismay, not only because of the literally unbearable guilt his presence triggered, but also because he just didn't make any _sense._ Bruce had betrayed the Avengers ; he had let them down, and worse, turned against them ; he had eventually chosen a coward's way out ; running away in the end, as he always did.

But Clint was there, worried sick about _him_ – and what was more, he made it sound like the Avengers were responsible for this dreadful mess. But Bruce knew that if somebody was to blame for his own failure, it was him and nobody else.

But Clint was _still_ there, and as it was, the sheer absurdity of his behavior was just too high of a mountain for Bruce's mind to climb. So he just stayed at the bottom, too tired to think, able only to feel.

To feel the fading warmth of Clint's hands on his shoulders. To feel the rough material of Clint's jacket on his bare skin. To feel the ache somewhere under his ribs because Clint had held him so _tight_ when he had woken up _._ And really, no, none of it made sense. But it felt – good, and that filled Bruce with a shame he was too worn out to fight off.

He had no idea how much time had passed since he had come round. It already felt like a lifetime anyway. He was acutely aware that the dim-lit chunks of concrete would be the last thing he would ever lay eyes on. Truth be told, he had known it long before firing the taser ; although he had vaguely hoped he could keep himself from changing, he knew that things were never this simple when it came to him. But even the Hulk could not save him from starvation. He liked to think that had he been alone, he would have just let himself drift off in a state of acceptance, until he was too weak even to move, finding some sort of peace at last before the end.

But Clint Barton was trapped with him, and it made his insides stir so painfully he wanted to scream – wanted to change and tear the ruins apart until he had brought the archer back to safety. He knew, he _knew_ they were just too deep under for the Hulk to dig a way out without hurting Clint, but the urge was still there, boiling inside in a neverending simmer, so far away from the quietness he had hoped to find.

For all these reasons and more, he tried not to look at Clint, but it was a lost cause. He just could not keep his eyes off him, although he kept willing himself to lower his gaze – only to realize he was staring at him again the next minute. Even though he had not been _conscious_ of it, he had lived and fought by his side for months ; and he only realized that these few days away from the Avengers – away from him – would have been excruciating in any circumstances.

Bottom line, he had missed him.

He had missed him so much.

 

*

 

A heavy creak startled him awake. There was a hand on his shoulder, shaking him – when the hell had he fallen asleep ?

“Bruce,” Clint said hurriedly in his ear. “Bruce, we gotta move !”

Bruce opened his eyes, but saw nothing ; the glowsticks had faded.

“Move,” he mumbled sleepily. “Move where ?”

“Away from here – it's crumbling, Bruce, get _up !”_

Another terrible grinding echoed above their heads and Bruce let Clint drag him forward. There was not enough space for them to stand, but they still managed to stumble quickly enough to the other end of their improvised shelter, which wasn't saying much.

“What's happening ?” Bruce panted, collapsing against the wall.

“Well, I'm no architect,” Clint said, and the doctor guessed from the tone of his voice that he was wincing. “I didn't think it through when I stuck the stems and now I think – ” another creak, so shrill and surreal it sounded like a human voice – “I think there's not enough stems and too much pressure on the same end, so it's starting to give out.”

“But – but why so suddenly ? Is someone trying to dig us out ?”

Clint's hand clenched briefly around his arm. Bruce had not even noticed he was still touching him.

“It, um,” he said. “No, it was very progressive, actually. I think it started just after you fell asleep. Something like seven hours ago ? I don't know – I lost track of time when the glowsticks died out.”

“You – ” Bruce was baffled. “You let me sleep for _seven_ hours ?”

“Sure, why not ?” Clint panted. “You looked like you needed it. Besides, we're stuck waiting here and it's not like I brought a deck of cards or anything, so – oh, _shit – ”_

The adamantium _screamed,_ so loud Bruce actually had to shield his ears – then there was a strangely musical sound along with a dry snap, instantly followed by the low rumble of concrete collapsing. Bruce encountered a second of pure terror, but he understood quickly enough that they were not going to get flattened like dry leaves – not yet, anyway. Only the other end of the cave had caved in on itself. The Hulk was pulsing in his veins, but he had never been so completely in control of his other half, simply because changing would mean an immediate death sentence for Clint.

After a few seconds of calm, the archer loosened a bit his almost painful hold, and let out a deep sigh.

“We should be safe here for a little while,” he said in the dark. “I stuck something like five stems on this side. Guess I should've gone for symmetry, but what can I say, I was in a hurry.” He caught his breath for another minute, then said, “You alright ?”

“I'm – I'm fine,” Bruce muttered.

Clint huffed, then let go of him.

“Hold on a second,” he mumbled.

It sounded like he was rummaging his pockets. “Shit, I don't have many left. There...”

Something cracked loudly and a pale pink glow chased the darkness away. Clint pulled a dubious look at the glowstick, then glanced up at Bruce and quirked a smile. “Eh. At least it's not green.”

Bruce could just stare at him. Clint had spent seven hours in the dark, not because he did not have any glowsticks left, but because he saved them for him. And again this pain inside him, this strain of his mind desperately trying to _understand,_ but failing against plain sheer _nonsense._

The archer's smile wavered, as though he had read Bruce's thoughts. He promptly stuck the stick between two rocks and looked around. There was not much to see ; it was even more cramped than before, and the rods of adamantium crisscrossing what little free space they had were not helping.

Bruce took a deep breath and tried to calm down, suddenly fully aware of Clint's warmth pressed against his right side as he stretched and made his joints snap and pop.

“So,” the archer groaned. “We've been here for, what, a day ? I'd say things are looking pretty good.”

The doctor raised an eyebrow at that, and Clint replied with a shit-eating grin. “I'm in charge of the positive thinking, remember ?”

Bruce looked away with a wry smile. “Of course.”

“As long as we can keep waiting in relative comfort, I'll count it as a win.”

The doctor glanced at him again.

“Ever been trapped like this before ?” he murmured.

Clint looked at him for a second before answering. “Yeah. Once, in Budapest. I was dug out in record time, though. You ?”

God, he was _warm._ Bruce shouldn't have been able to feel it like this while wearing this thick bulletproof jacket. He shifted uneasily, just enough for them to stop touching.

“Well...” he said. “The, uh, the Other Guy tends to avoid getting buried. So no, not really. But I was part of a rescue team after an earthquake in Bolivia.”

The archer nodded pensively. “Any good ?”

“We got them all out,” the doctor said, smiling involuntarily at the memory. “There – there weren't that many people in the building. Dehydration's a bitch, though.”

Clint scoffed. “Tell me about it. That one time when I was in Southern France – it was supposed to be a boring mission, but turns out they're usually the worst – ”

The archer began talking animatedly, waving his hands around and drawing soft smiles out of Bruce. At some point the doctor realized that the glowstick's light was beginning to fade. Which meant hours had passed without him realizing it.

Talking to Clint felt too much like pieces of a puzzle fitting together, like a chemical reaction sparkling in a tube – felt too _right_ even for him to feel guilty over it. Even when he tried to remind himself that the archer was going to die because of him, this small moment of life did not lose any of its brightness.

And for the first time in months, something was very slightly, very shyly easing inside of him.

 

*

 

As Clint told Bruce tales of his past, something was very tightly, very painfully clenching inside of him. The doctor should have been bored out of his skull with Hawkeye's old stories just like everyone else in the team. He also should have had his phone filled with snarky texts from Stark and hilarious attempts from Thor. And he also should have been wearing –

“Shit,” Clint said, cutting himself off.

What little tension had bled out of Bruce's tired body instantly crept back in. “What ?”

“Oh, the usual,” the archer grumbled. “Me being a fucking idiot. Here.”

He snapped open his hip pocket and took out the doctor's glasses ; but when the soft, pink glow fell upon them, his heart missed a beat.

The lens were cracked.

 _“No,”_ he breathed.

A feeling of total unfairness suddenly swelled in his chest, almost squeezing tears out of his eyes. He had carried these glasses for months, but now that he _finally_ thought of giving them back to the doctor, they were broken, and the symbolic irony of it was just unbearable.

“Shit, no, they were perfect last time – ”

“You kept them ?” Bruce murmured.

Clint glanced up at him, swallowing around the sob stuck in his throat. Bruce reached out and took the glasses with infinite precautions, as though expecting them to pop like a bubble.

“You kept them all that time ?”

He stared for another moment, then a smile flickered on his lips ; and he looked so disbelievingly grateful that for second time in his life, the archer felt his heart actually contorting in his chest. _No, I didn't deserve this, I really didn't._

But he wasn't about to brush away Bruce either. Never again. He swallowed once more, his mouth suddenly extremely dry, then managed to smile back. “Yeah. I shouldn't have carried them around in my pocket like that, I'm sor – ”

“It's alright,” Bruce said fervently.

He looked at the broken glasses again and said, in a softer voice, “It's alright.”

Clint nodded, throat tight. Maybe he should have gone on with his stories, but for the life of him, he could not think of anything to say right now.

 

*

 

Bruce slid down a little against the concrete and the slight chafing woke him up.

“S – sorry,” he mumbled, clumsily straightening up. “I – I just keep falling asleep.”

“Don't worry about it,” Clint said.

It was completely dark again. When Bruce heard the archer moving, he instinctively let out a “Don't –” and put a hand on his – thigh. Damn – he had been aiming for his arm and promptly withdrew his hand.

“Don't,” he repeated a bit awkwardly. “You – um – you said you hadn't many glowsticks left. We'd better keep them for later.”

The archer laughed a little, and stopped searching his pockets.

“Glad to see you're getting on with our waiting program,” he said.

Bruce gave a small smile in the dark and curled up against the concrete.

No, he was not getting on with the program. No matter how long they waited, there was no way out. But if he could make it only slightly better for Clint, then he would – there was no more point in whining than hoping anyway.

 

*

 

“For how long have we been here ?” Bruce murmured after what felt like years.

“I don't know,” Clint rasped. “Must be something like two days now.”

He straightened up with a wince. He hadn't really been sleeping, just dozing on and off. His throat felt like sandpaper, the thirst so overwhelming he couldn't feel hunger ; even the aches of his body were dulled in comparison. But there was no point in talking about it, of course, even though Bruce must be in the same state – in an even worse state, come to think of it, since he hadn't been the picture of health even before the landslide.

Clint wished he could have seen his face.

“Want me to crack a glowstick ?” he asked.

He heard a soft rubbing sound and realized the doctor must be wringing his hands in hesitation.

“I'd rather be able to see something,” Clint lied.

“Oh,” Bruce instantly said. “Yeah – of course.”

The archer briefly closed his eyes, almost said something, then shut his mouth and searched for a stick in his pockets. He snapped it and waited ; this time, the glow was blue. Bruce's features looked even more ghastly in this gloomy light. His eyes were dark and bottomless, but also incredibly soft and sorrowful.

“Clint,” he said slowly, regretfully. “I think – ”

“Now don't start making your goodbyes or anything,” the archer warned.

A small, sad smile flickered on Bruce's lips for a second. “I think,” he repeated in a low voice, “that I heard something.”

Clint listened. At first, there was nothing.

Then –

“Shit,” he breathed.

It was that same faint, ominous vibration he had heard two days ago.

The moan of adamantium starting to give out.

A painful silence settled in, since neither him nor Bruce felt the need to state the obvious – like two men in a boat on the edge of the Niagara falls ; there was absolutely nothing left to say or do. They stayed silent even when a deafening scream of metal pierced their confined shelter. For a incredibly tense second, nothing could be heard.

Only their heavy breaths.

 

Then – it all caved in.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, tell me what you thought *squirms* and thank you so much for reading !


	18. Star

 

 

 

 

 

Clint pressed a hand against the cement and took a slow, deep breath.

Now he really felt like he was buried in a coffin of stone. The huge block of concrete had stopped inches from his face, and he could feel its coldness against his chest when he breathed in. It was a goddamn miracle, but when you thought about it for a second, it was a bloody twisted one. As for his legs, they were completely paralyzed, but he didn't think they were broken – or maybe just his left one ; although he could hardly tell, since the unearthly weight pressing on them had effectively stopped the flow of blood and deprived the archer of any sensibility, other than a dull but deep-rooted pain. His left arm was stuck too, but his right was still free, and he trailed his hypersensitive fingers on the stones and concrete and metal around him, trying to map his suffocating shell. His hand could never go further than five inches from his face, until he suddenly came across an empty space on his right – and at the same time, he heard a pained groan coming through it.

He took another breath, extremely slow, and twisted on himself to turn towards the breach.

“Bruce,” he croaked in the dark and dust. “Can you hear me ?”

Bruce let out another groan but didn't answer. Clint started to freak out over various scenarios – _he's got a concussion, he's too hurt to speak, he's completely buried –_ then understood what was going on. Of course.

_Idiot._

“Hey, doc,” he said softly. “It's okay. You can change.”

The doctor was panting in the dark, probably writhing against his cage of stone, since the archer could hear gravels rolling under his body.

“C'mon, dig your way out,” he encouraged him. “You're the Hulk ! There's nothing you can't do ! Change and get out of here !”

Bruce's pained breaths gradually calmed down ; they still came out harsh and halting in the eerie silence.

“Come on,” Clint whispered.

A small, very human laugh answered him, soft and sad and weary. “Don't be ridiculous.”

The archer closed his eyes with relief and regret.

“You should've gone for it,” he sighed. “I'm trapped anyway.”

But he knew it was useless. Bruce Banner did _not_ hurt people – not even when they fucking deserved it, not even when they were going to die very soon anyway. He sighed, then extended his arm as much as he could to reach through the small empty space. Amazingly, he touched Bruce's wrist on his first try – he didn't think they were so close from each other. He wriggled a little to grab his hand, then entwined their fingers, and squeezed.

After a second, Bruce's fingers closed in response – just folded slightly around the archer's calloused hand. Clint huffed a small, sad laugh in the dark. Bruce did not answer verbally, but his fingers clenched a little harder.

The archer closed his eyes. There was nothing to say, but he put everything he had left on the hold he had on Bruce's hand, so the doctor could know that he was not alone in this goddamn tomb. After a while, he began to rub small circles in the dry palm with his thumb, and this time it was the doctor who tightened his grasp, making it almost painful.

“Are you alright ?” Bruce asked eventually, in a small, dejected voice.

“Yes,” Clint lied. “I'm perfectly fine.”

Okay, maybe a bit too much. Bruce snorted in the dark, but even that sounded rueful.

A long, depressing silence stretched out between them. Clint kept rubbing Bruce's palm, lacing their fingers together in different patterns, giving a quick tight clench every now and then. Now that his last burst of adrenaline was fading away, he realized his throat was hot and raspy ; his body was just one giant ache, like a dull glow with brighter spots here and there – ribs, legs, arm, forehead. He felt like he had been chewed by a stone titan, which was not very far from the truth. And suddenly, he thought he felt himself slip away. His strength was fading. Everything was growing uniformly smooth and cold around him, the sharp edges of his coffin vanishing in a haze of darkness. This was just an attack of claustrophobia – but maybe it wasn't. Maybe he was actually dying without realizing that was it – after all, he had no idea how it felt... – no, no, _no,_ it was a panic attack, it was just the icing hold of the Earth that pierced through his bones like a scythe – but he couldn't feel his body, he couldn't feel the roughness of the concrete anymore, he was falling and expanding into nothingness at the same time, and his breathing –

“Clint,” Bruce stammered.

The archer opened his eyes, encased in a tomb of ice and silence and was he _really –_

“What ?” he rasped from the bottom of his freezing pit.

“I'm – I wanted to – “ Bruce's voice broke. “No, I'm sorry, I never meant – it's not, I wish you could get out but it's – God, I'm so sorry, just – just forget I ever said anything – ”

“Bruce,” Clint cut off, the doctor's distress soothing a bit his own breathtaking panic. “What ?”

Silence.

“I'm glad,” the doctor breathed like an ugly secret. “I'm glad there's someone.”

Burning tears tore through Clint's cocoon of coldness, slicing it like a branding wire cutting through a pack of snow, like strands of red fire lighting up underwater, freeing him from his constricting terror. And he knew he was still alive.

He took a deep, painful breath, his chest pressing against the icy stone, his lungs screaming with coldness inside his chest, but the panic was definitely receding. He clenched tighter than ever on the doctor's hand, holding for a long time, hoping this could make up for what Bruce couldn't see.

“Thank you,” he said, hoarsely.

More tears rolled down his cheeks, and he thought he could feel their paths steaming across his cold skin. Yes, he was still alive for now. And if Bruce could tell him something like this hours away from death, then Clint had to try his best and be up to it.

“Thank you,” he repeated. “I'm glad too.”

_And I'm sorry. I'm so, so fucking sorry._

But he couldn't say it – it would have sounded too pointless and futile now ; and mostly, it would have only stressed just how utterly useless his apologies were. Bruce's hand relaxed slightly in his, and there was nothing Clint could do but scream inside with self-torment.

After that, the doctor did not talk anymore.

 

*

 

Three eternities later, Clint reopened his eyes.

His tears had dried on his face, and he was so thirsty his whole body felt like old leather – all the pain and cold were gone ; there was just this burning thirst in his throat and stomach. His tongue was like a big dead rodent in his mouth. Even though he was lying down and secured in a stone vice, he felt dizzy, disconnected from his sense of balance, as if he kept missing a thousand steps that were not even there. He knew that had he been able to stand, the whole world would have spun and undulated around him until he fell back down.

_Dehydration's a bitch._

He wasn't hallucinating, though, which meant he wasn't in a terminal state yet. He tried to swallow around his tongue and wanted to clench on Bruce's hand, but it felt like his entire body was desensitized again. He made a huge effort and managed to move his fingers, once. But the doctor didn't clench back.

Clint blacked out.

 

*

 

He felt good.

He felt lighter than air, actually. He probably would have flown away if not for the tons of concrete weighing on his chest. His tongue felt normal again, but when he tried to speak, only a weak breath came out, like the dry sigh of an old man. For how long had he been there now ? Three days ? Four days ? He had no way to know.

Even though he knew it was useless, he opened his eyes – and startled.

For a second, he completely forgot to breathe in utter, baffled wonderment. The inscrutable darkness was gone, along with the suffocating feeling of his own breath thrown back by the closeness of a stone wall. In their place was an endless, starry sky, smooth black with silver blue stars, like gleaming pins on an immense coat of velvet, going on and on and on as far as the eye could see, and even beyond, so large and so open and _free._ The feeling of infinity was vertiginous. Clint almost felt like he was dangling above an abyss, rather than lying on his back looking at the stars. It was so wonderful he couldn't have taken his eyes off it – not that there was anything else to see. The archer wanted to laugh with pure, untouched joy, but once again, nothing came out.

His first coherent thought was – Bruce had to see this. It was so beautiful – and they had gotten _out._ He had no idea how or when it had happened, but they had broken out ! He could even feel the fresh air on his cheeks – Bruce had to see this !

Clint clenched his fingers, but it felt as though he was activating someone else's hand from a very long distance.

“Bruce,” he said in a weak, hissing voice.

He wriggled a little to remind himself he still had a body.

“You're missing the whole thing,” he rasped. “C'mon, wake up !”

He tried to shake his hand, but his own arm felt dead.

“Bruce, wake up,” he insisted.

He was still staring at the marvelous night sky, and suddenly realized that its wonder was beginning to fade. The stars were blinking off one by one. One by one, like people drawing a curtain on their golden windows, turning away from them.

“Bruce, wake up, quick !”

He looked at the endless skies again to be sure, but the wonderful warmth of the blue, gold and silver lights was receding.

“Don't go,” Clint begged them. “Wait, wait, don't go yet !”

His fingers clenched convulsively again. “Bruce,” he whined.

The doctor's fingers were motionless.

“Bruce,” Clint said thickly. “You've got to see this. Before it's all gone. Come on now, I'm – I'm sorry for everything. Just wake up. Please ?”

Still no answer.

“Please, wake up,” he moaned. “You're missing the stars.”

Their fingers were so tightly entwined it felt like their palms had fused together. Bruce's hand was so cold, though.

So cold.

Clint thought his whole body was about to rupture from swelling refusal. Tears were pricking at his eyes again, just when he thought there wasn't a drop of water left inside his body.

“Bruce,” he whispered. “Come on, man. I'm telling you, they're going. Wake up now – wake up !”

He pushed against the concrete with his all body, suddenly absurdly furious against this fucking stupid weight pinning him down, keeping him from reaching the doctor, because if he could have touched more than his hand, even just his arm or shoulder, it would have made it all better, couldn't anyone just _see_ this, seriously, Bruce was just unconscious, that was all, just a heavy sleeper, he just needed to open his eyes and everything would be fine, but Clint was crushed between stone and stone and what the fuck was wrong with this goddamn world ?

“Bruce,” he panted, giving up on his pointless struggle. “Bruce, wake up, please wake up !”

The stars were fading. One by one. Soon, they were almost all gone – it was just the gray haze of oblivion now.

“Bruce, don't go too,” the archer suddenly breathed. “Don't you dare. We're supposed to – we're supposed to wait together.”

He gripped Bruce's hand, stuck his nails in the dry skin, twisted the bones, ground the knuckles, trying to _hurt_ him, trying to jerk him awake _._

“Don't leave,” he begged. “Fuck, you didn't see the stars yet. They're going away and you _didn't see them._ I swear they were here. I _swear._ You were just – you were just not looking, that's all. But it's alright. I promise they're still here, Bruce. They're real, they're all waiting for you. You could still see them if you could just – ” he choked, _“wake up.”_

His tears were rolling down again. The skies were closing on themselves like a flower at night. The last stars were going off, like so many bubbles popping up there in space.

“Bruce, wake _up !”_ Clint sobbed.

He said it again, and again, and again, until the words had lost their meaning, until even the violence of his despair had vanished, leaving him empty. Bruce was not waking up, Bruce would never wake up again, and he knew exactly why, but it was just not fair.

Not _fair._

His own pain and thirst felt like a soothing tide washing over him, slowly carrying him to the open sea. He was kneading and crushing Bruce's hand in his palm, the flesh inert and malleable under his fingers, without so much as a pulse or a hint of warmth to light it up – working it so thoroughly he knew he would never forget its particular shape and texture, not even in a million years. He was taking this memory with him at the very least.

“Wake up.”

It was all gone. It was all dark.

“Wake up,” he breathed, like an old litany – or a last lullaby.

 

*

 

Something was sparkling white and blue above him, a beautiful jewel embedded in darkness, twinkling and glittering like a fragment of sun in black water, hovering far away from his reach.

There was no thirst. There was no pain. Only the light above.

“Bruce,” Clint murmured.

His eyes were wide open and glassy in the dark.

“Look. There's one left.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep. So.
> 
> Feel free to yell at me or analyze the chapter or predict what comes next - or anything you want, really ; comments are what keeps me writing. :) A huge thanks to anyone reading this once again.
> 
> (I really am a bit sorry for this one. Next chapter on Saturday...)


	19. Breath

 

The light was still here.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was steady and blue, not like the trembling glow of a star at all, actually. Strange.

Then it got closer, and Clint saw what it was.

It was a spider.

The rational part of his brain had left the building a very long time ago, so he had no trouble swallowing that fact. There was a spider, and it was glowing blue, and this time he was pretty sure he was dying. This was something he knew intimately, like how to feed himself or how to make love. He knew he had maybe an hour left, as though he had a ticking clock embedded in his heart.

And now he could even see, thanks to the dull light the spider was casting. A close-up on dusty concrete wasn't terribly thrilling, but still – moments away from death, any sight was a welcome sight, rather than complete darkness.

The bug whirred slightly and started crawling against the wall, inches above Clint's face. It really looked like a black widow, except for the fact that it was obviously artificial, red and silver metal with a switch on its head, and a round, glowing blue circle on its back.

Tony's heart.

It was too small, the size of a coin, but it was Tony's heart. An ARC reactor. A spider with an ARC reactor in it. Clint repeated the words in his mind, let them jostle themselves around to see what would come out of it, but he just couldn't think anymore. He was wrung out.

The spider came even closer, until the switch filled completely Clint's vision. Yeah, alright, he was not _that_ stupid. _Press the little button, Clint_.

Except pressing the button would have been _really_ stupid, since he had no idea what it would do. Curiosity killed the cat and all. Oldest trick in the book, man. So maybe he shouldn't.

Except he was dying anyway. And he really, really wanted to press the button, because damn if he wouldn't allow himself one last stupid action before his death.

Yet, it was impossible.

“I can't,” he rasped.

He had no idea if something, someone, somewhere, was listening. But he talked to that spider with the decision of a man writing his last will and testament.

“I can't do it,” he explained. “I can't let go of Bruce's hand.”

His left arm was still stuck, and hopelessly deadened anyway ; his right arm wasn't much better, sure, but it wasn't like his hand and Bruce's were mummified together. Clint was pretty sure he could have forced his fingers open and brought his hand back to press the button, but he wasn't going to do it. He wasn't letting go of Bruce to press a stupid button.

“Won't leave him,” he breathed. “Sorry.”

The spider clicked in frustration – or so it sounded – and waited, but the archer didn't move. He wished he could have felt Bruce's hand in his own, but they were both cold as ice now. He knew for sure their fingers were still tightly laced together, though.

The spider was moving again. It was going down, now above Clint's chin, then above his throat, his collarbone.

Then above his chest.

It stayed there, and this time, the archer understood.

He took a big inspiration, putting all his remaining strength in this last heroic effort. He breathed in, even tried to arch against the concrete, as though he could have lifted tons of debris with the sheer force of his spine.

His aching ribs brushed the spider, then outright pressed it against the wall as he breathed deeper, blocking the light and plunging himself in the dark – and it scared him to death, this renewed darkness, but he still pressed more and more as he kept breathing in, and his chest swelled and swelled and crushed the switch against the stone until –

– _click._

 

A sphere of blue light blossomed in the obscurity.

At first, it had the size of an orange, but it grew fast and steadily, following the outline of the blocks of concrete, until the suffocating hole looked like it was painted a dazzling azure. It went right through Clint as though he had not been there, but stopped against the walls, settling against them – and _pushing._ Clint could see it, how it was bracing against the concrete, immaterial versus material, light against stone.

Nothing happened for a second. Then a terrible grinding sound crawled through Clint like a rusty blade.

The forcefield buzzed and brightened with renewed power, as though gathering momentum, and the walls actually began to _recede._ Another spider suddenly slipped through a crack under Clint's legs and grafted itself on the first one. The small reactors buzzed together and another deafening rumble shook Clint down to his bones. Everything around him was whining and screaming with pressure, but the walls were definitely being pushed back. It was like a crazy arm wrestling between the sheer inertia of the concrete and the blue power of the shield.

And damn it, the shield was winning.

 _Bruce's_ shield.

A third robot crossed the blue barrier to join the other two, then a fourth, then a fifth, and suddenly it was swarming with glowing robotic bugs climbing on themselves to form a cluster of energy sources, a glowing core powering the shield each time a little more, making it grow each time a bit wider, pushing the walls further and further away. Clint's legs were suddenly freed, and he realized he could sit up. Well – could have, if his body had been cooperating. As it was, he was only functional above the waist, minus his left arm, but that was all he needed. He turned to the right, and realized the small breach in the wall was spread wider open by the blue power as well.

And he could see Bruce.

The doctor was lying on his side, curled up on himself like a small child, his cold hand tight around Clint's as though the archer's fingers were the most precious thing he had.

“Bruce,” Clint breathed uselessly.

He willed his legs to move, but got told to go fuck himself, so he dragged his body across the chunks of concrete, among the deafening noises of the ruins crumbling above him. The ground was quaking again and the shield appeared to strain under the violence of it all, but nothing mattered, except _Bruce._ Clint reached the frozen scientist at last and finally let go of his hand, only to brace his functional arm around him, and heave him up against his chest.

Bruce felt incredibly light in his arms – an empty chrysalis. He was pale and cold and limp, like a porcelain doll in black tactical gear.

And he wasn't breathing.

Clint's left arm startled to life even though he still could not feel it, and grabbed the doctor's hair to tilt his head back – it began to feel like a hundred needles were piercing through his skin, but he couldn't care less. He took a deep breath, and forgot about the deafening racket, forgot about the blue shield buzzing and whining as it struggled to protect them from the crumbling ruins, forgot about everything quaking around them, and pressed his mouth on Bruce's mouth.

His first breath out was so weak and cold he almost lost hope – how could he ever blow life back in his lungs, when he was almost dead inside, himself ? But he went on, almost mechanically, feeling Bruce's chest heaving slowly against his, _in, out, in, out,_ and gradually the flow of air became warmer, ever so slightly, but it was a start, and he slipped his left hand under the thick jacket and against the doctor's bare chest, and he felt the ribs under the skin and moved his hand higher and there was a fucking heartbeat under his fingers, it was terrifyingly weak and slow but it was there, Bruce was just in a catatonic state, he was just too weak to breathe by himself, but it was perfect because Clint could do just that for him, it was about the only think he was good for right now really, but he was also the best in his category, he was the fucking champion of breathing, his breath had already blown up a glowing balloon of light and now he was going to breathe for them both, breathe their way out of here and away from death, I told you, Bruce, I made a fucking promise, we're going out, we're not dying here, now come on, Banner, come on, doc, come back to life, there's a giant blue star and I want you to see it, it's your own child, it's Tony's heart but it's your blood it pumps, don't die now, Bruce, there's so much more you need to see and I'm breathing with you, I'm breathing for you, you're not alone anymore, I finally screwed my head on, Bruce, about time, and now we're breathing together in the core of the Earth and I can feel you pressing against me, I can feel your lips fitting against mine, and I can feel you sucking the air right out of my lungs and you can take it, Bruce, you can take it all, it's all for you, and I can feel you moving against me, curling against me, and I am holding you close, close, as close as humanly possible, and your heartbeat grows louder under my fingers, and we are breathing together, _in, out, in, out,_ and we are one among the destruction and the light is changing and everything is crumbling around us but we are safe, thanks to you, thanks to what you created, and now the flow of air is warm between us, and now your chest is moving on its own, and now your heart is beating strong under my hand, and I guess you're alive now, I guess you're back, I guess you don't need me anymore, but I'm still here and you're still here and I guess it means we are kissing now, and you know what, Bruce, it suits me just fucking fine, because a kiss is exactly what I was trying to tell you.

 

*

 

The Banner-Stark Shield had grown into a geodesic dome and reached almost a mile in diameter. There were two silhouettes to be seen, huddled together at the bottom of the glowing sphere protecting them from the debris threatening to keel over at every second.

A red-and-gold armor blasted off in the pale light of dawn, did a lap around the globe and dashed against its simmering wall, piercing through it with sparkles and electrical discharges which undulated at the surface, like waves after the throw of a rock in a spherical lake. The brightly-colored silhouette swam down that humongous ball of blue water, and landed smoothly next to the two figures – tiny, so tiny at the bottom. He took them in his metal arms, almost reverently, and blasted upwards with more haste.

The second the blue barrier was crossed back, the forcefield flickered then disappeared ; the ruins held apart by the sheer magnetic force instantly crumbled again with a deafening roar of stone. Two limp bodies were put down softly on the rocky ground, and a crowd of people in white clothes snatched them from the metal hands to wrap them in cloth, lift them up on stretchers and put them on drips, before taking them away in the city of plastic and canvas which had grown near the crater in almost four days of frantic activity.

They could still lose them.

Even now, especially now, they could still lose them.

 

*

 

_“Steve Rogers to Thor. Do you copy ?”_

A few miles away in the desert, Thor raised a hand to the earpiece he had been given.

“Captain,” he said soberly. “What news ?”

Sitting in the dust a few dozen feet from him, Loki did not move. Thor knew he could hear him – could probably also hear the Captain's voice sizzling from the Midgardian device – but during the four days they had spent together in this rocky, deserted place, his lost brother had remained eerily unresponsive. After the base had collapsed, he had just sat in the dust and told Thor he could very well do what he bloody wanted. He had spoken in a strained, irritated voice – but his fatigue and anger had sounded soul-deep, so different from his usual shell of mocking insolence. And he had not said anything more since. Four days of the most stubborn, bitter silence Thor had ever heard.

The thunderer's first reflex had been to call Steve Rogers to tell him that Loki was with him, and that Banner had apparently stayed inside the collapsing building on purpose. He was both dismayed and impressed to hear that Barton had barged in seconds before it all crumbled. The archer was most certainly dead, but the Avengers had outright refused to envision the possibility, and insisted that in any way Banner was probably still alive, and that they had to dig _him_ out at the very least – and hope for the best as to Barton's fate.

Unfortunately, Jarvis's first scans had revealed that the pit was not only miles deep, but also filled with unbalanced debris that could collapse on themselves at any given time. To remove them one by one would take weeks – and Thor had been told that humans without water survived only three days. Four, at the very most.

So strong, his friends, yet so frail.

Then Tony Stark had muttered something on the coms about a draft and suddenly, one of SHIELD's phantom cities – like the one which had built itself around Thor's hammer – had grown in the desert, and the man of Iron had thrown himself into work without eating or sleeping. In three days' time, Stark outdid himself in the most incredible ways – rewriting Banner's equations so they would function with his own reactor as a power source ; re-creating that same reactor in an even tinier form although Thor had been told the first miniaturization was already an unbelievable feat of science ; computing a basic AI that could fit into robots small enough to circulate through the cracks in the ruins, yet complex enough to detect human heat and head towards it without hesitation ; and finally, building as much of these rescue bots as he could, with the help of the Captain and the Widow whose dexterous fingers had been required to create an pack of sniffing spiders and a forest of glowing hearts.

They had sent the bugs in the ruins. And waited for one to get activated.

Waited

Waited.

Thor had spent these four days waiting. Right here, in the exact spot Loki had picked for them. The thunderer was not much of a craftsman, and the Avengers needed him most as Loki's guardian anyway, so his lost brother would not get a chance to endanger even more the prisoners of the ruins. Somehow though, Thor doubted Loki would have tried. He had sat through these four days in stubborn, cold immobility, never asking the thunderer for information, never glancing towards him. His bitter prostration was maybe even worse than any insult he could have spat at Thor's face. He had not tried to escape or speak up for himself. He had just stayed there.

As though he was actually waiting, too.

 

Thor listened to Steve Rogers for a few seconds, nodding by reflex, then turned to Loki. The trickster raised cold blue eyes at him, and stared unmoving for a long, painful minute. He did not look like he was about to beg for news – rather like he was wondering how it would feel when he ripped Thor's guts out his throat.

The thunderer let out a silent sigh.

“He is alive,” he said.

Loki did not react in any visible way. He stayed motionless like a statue carved in hatred, but his eyes seemed of an even paler blue, if that was possible.

“He is very ill, but the Captain is confident he will get better.”

“Well,” Loki answered flatly. “I am positively thrilled – the suspense was killing me.”

Despite the irony in his sentences, the words themselves were not biting. His voice sounded hollow. Dead. So unlike the syrupy tones of the Silvertongue.

“Now that this matter of major importance has been settled, dare I ask what awaits me ?”

He did not sound actually interested in his own fate. His eyes were looking beyond. Were looking back, maybe. Thor thought he could still see the smoke of the ruins in them. And older smokes, too, from ancient disasters, clouding his brother's gaze, suffocating him in puffs rising continually from the low fire in his entrails.

“What if I told you the choice was yours ?” Thor asked softly.

Loki stared at the ground for a few more seconds, then glanced up. “Mine ?” he said with weary irritation. “Have you grown so lazy as to leave me to plan my _own_ punishment ?”

“I speak not of punishment.”

A smirk tugged at Loki's lips, but once again, it was but a shadow of what had once been. “Yes, of course,” he said in a hushed voice. “Surely _you_ shall not speak of punishment. You seem very talented indeed in leaving such chores to others.”

Thor flinched with actual, cutting pain. “This is – different,” he uttered. “I truly am giving you a choice – ”

“I have no choices,” Loki said brusquely. “I am a traitor and a slave. Meat for _Midgardian study.”_

He spat those words with unheard-of disgust, then glanced up at Thor again and showed his teeth, a bit of his old fighting spirit seemingly creeping back. “Since you claim to be in need of directions from me, even as to my own sentence, I shall deliver. Take me back to your master, whichever one you choose – it matters not to me.”

Thor remained silent and Loki's hands balled into fists.

“What are you waiting for ?” he said, voice low and filled with hatred. “Do you think you have any false hopes to dangle before me ? I am more lucid than you, Thor. You are only trying to ease your conscience before the inevitable – so you can tell yourself at night that you did everything you could, that you extended a hand to me and I was the one to refuse it out of poisoned pride. But you the hero, you the prince, you will do what is right in the end, and we both know it. You are only embarrassing yourself with these indecisive episodes.”

“Loki, this is not – ”

“ _Enough !”_ Loki snarled. “Enough of this noble _act_ – there is no point in dragging this out ! You will dispose of me, Thor, and you will do it _now –_ so I can have you out of my sight at the very least !”

The silence which followed seemed to vibrate with the echoes of his hatred. Thor just stared at him.

“Why are you so eager,” he said softly. “Is this a ploy, Loki ? Or do you just know that you will not be able to escape, this time ?”

In truth, he did not need even to ask. He knew Loki was too weak to teleport again – would probably remain drained out for a long time. Instant travel was no futile magic, even an ignorant fool like him knew that ; and Loki had carried them _both_ on several miles. It was no coincidence that he had stayed seated during these four days. He was completely exhausted, wrung out, as weak and void as Banner himself – and desperate to hide it.

Of course, Loki guessed his thoughts and scowled in response. “I will not have your pity either, Odinson.”

“Speak not of pity, but of concern,” Thor corrected wearily.

The trickster snorted. “Do tell me – why would you ache for the monster who tried three times to murder you ?”

“Because you saved me the fourth,” Thor simply said.

Loki went extremely stiff and pale.

Thor could tell he wanted to avert his eyes, but forced himself to stare straight.

“Why ?” the thunderer went on softly. “You could have left me behind.”

“I wanted to kill you with my own hands,” Loki spat.

 _Lie,_ Thor thought.

He did not know why, nor how he knew, but this time, he could tell without a doubt that his brother was not speaking the truth. He would probably never know the real reason Loki had so suddenly decided to spare him, though – whether it was an impulse, or part of a greater plan ; whether it had come from the outside, or from the depths of his contradictory soul. He doubted Loki himself knew. But he was firmly intent on turning this small flicker, whatever it might have been, into something more.

“Well, you are welcome to try and kill me again,” he said with a shrug. “It might not be very wise, though, considering you seem hardly able to stand. Being in such a state, I cannot imagine what Mjölnir – ”

Loki let out an exasperated sigh and rubbed his face with both hands. “Oh, for Hel's sake, spare me your pitiful display of power. There is nobody here to impress – only me, and I already know you, far too well.”

Thor fell silent. His brother kept his face in his hands for a second, then sighed. “Take me away, Thor.”

It almost sounded like a plea now.

“Very well,” the thunderer said.

He stepped forward.

“If this is what you wish, get up.”

Loki glared, but did not move. Thor grabbed his arm and forced him on his feet. His brother gritted his teeth but did not really resist him – Loki hated the ridicule, and struggling in vain like an untamed puppy was pathetic indeed. When the thunderer pinned him against his chest-plate, though, an uncontrollable shiver ran through his slender body, once, like a sob trying to struggle free but effectively crushed down by his cold iron will.

Thor raised his arm and felt Loki instinctively bracing against him. He tightened his hold, then let the winds swirl around him, and in a sudden burst, Mjölnir took them both away in the humid skies of dawn, now cleared from clouds as far as the eye could see.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're at a turning point here for everyone ; I'd really appreciate it if you could tell me what you thought. :) I hope you liked this chapter ; and I hope you'll like what comes next.


	20. Step

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When Thor landed in the dust, Loki slid down against him, limp and cold, and he realized his brother had passed out. Surely the trip, though relatively short, had done nothing for his health.

Well, that would only make it all easier. He was walking an very thin line here ; and although his decision was made, he could use having Loki out of his way for the time being.

Besides, his brother needed the rest.

He lifted him up in his arms – Loki would most probably kill him for that, but he already wanted Thor dead anyway. The thunderer began to walk towards the small house. It was dimly lit, only one golden window for four other dark ones. An dusty trailer was parked on the side, and a smile tugged at Thor's lips, as though he had just met an old friend. But then the door opened, and the shadow in the frame wiped the vehicle off his thoughts.

_“Thor ?”_

The voice was soft and shocked, but strong, the silhouette by no means womanly – worn trousers, old shirt, messy hair ; and Thor felt a pang of fondness pierce through his heart. Jane Foster just stood transfixed for a few seconds, her lips half-open, her eyes wide and gleaming, and the thunderer would have liked nothing more than to throw himself in her arms, but there was Loki between them – and was it not a most unsubtle metaphor for things past and things yet to come.

“I had – no idea you were back,” Jane whispered.

“Jane ?” someone said behind her.

She was still working with Erik, of course. Thor felt both glad and dismayed – Selvig was a friend, but he would have preferred not to inflict this on him, not after Manhattan.

“Jane,” Selvig said more excitedly, appearing behind her. “Is that who I think it – ”

He stopped dead in the doorframe. Only then did Jane seem to notice too the pale, ghostly form Thor was carrying in his arms.

A painful silence stretched between them. The dawn was gray on the horizon, quickly wiping out the stars from above their heads.

“Loki,” Selvig noted flatly.

Thor was thankful he was too stunned for any disgust or hatred to seep out in his voice. He nodded wearily.

“I cannot apologize enough for visiting only as a bearer of grim news,” he said. “But I am afraid I must ask for your help, one last time.”

Selvig's eyes were so filled with doubt and fear and revulsion that Thor felt compelled to add : “I would understand, should you choose to shut your door to me.”

“Don't be stupid,” Jane said heatedly. “Come in. We've got coffee.”

Thor gave a sad chuckle at this. “My beloved,” he murmured.

Selvig appeared to pull himself up. “Of course you can come inside,” he said gruffly. “We'll listen to you at the very least.”

Thor almost took a step forward, but hesitated for another second. “I promise no harm will come from Loki as long as I am here. But – he needs to rest.”

“We have a cot upstairs,” Selvig said, even more surly. “It's fine – I trust you.”

The thunderer exhaled a breath he had not realized he was holding in. “Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.”

“Now come on in,” Jane urged him in a anxious voice. “You look like you can barely stand, yourself.”

Thor smiled again and stepped inside, carrying his lost brother in his arms.

 

*

 

A ruffle of sheets startled Steve awake from his uncomfortable position on the chair.

When he looked up, Bruce Banner was awake and breathing in gasps and gaping at him and holding in his tightened fist the IV tubes he had just ripped off his arm. A single drop of blood was slowly rolling down the crook of his elbow. Exhaustion and pain had carved deep lines on his face, but he was very obviously up and perfectly lucid.

And so terrified he could barely breathe.

“It's not drugs,” Steve's mouth said without consulting anyone.

Well, he was glad his body had apparently decided to go ahead, since he felt completely paralyzed inside.

“It's electrolytes. Sodium,” he heard himself add. “For the dehydration.”

Bruce's entire body flinched, only once, but deeply and with some sort of convulsion, like a spider web after a sudden gush of wind. And it pierced Steve so thoroughly that for the first time in his life, he thought, _I can't. I can't do this._

How could he not see the doctor's so very obvious distrust before ? How could he have thought that a man who had been on the run for years, and treated like a monster for a decade, would just go and confide in strangers only because they claimed to be his friends ? _They_ should have been the ones to push it, to get Bruce to talk, to make sure he was alright. They should have been the ones asking questions and trying to do more than just scratch his surface. They had lazily waited for him to provide the information himself – forgetting that Bruce Banner was all about hiding information, and that it would be a very hard habit to break. Heck, it had taken months before Steve himself had –

Oh.

Oh, _jeez._

Steve had confided in only one person after months, indeed. That person had been Bruce Banner. And Bruce – it was so obvious now – must have thought a door was finally opening. Must have thought Steve was telling him about sleeping in oblivion because he had seen the similarities between them. But Steve – but _Captain America –_ had then fled in embarrassment, thinking only of his own wounds, blind to the raw suffering gushing out of the man standing before him.

It was obvious that there was nothing he could do to make things better. But at the very least, he could try and not make things worse.

“Doctor, I – ” he began, but each word felt too big and too heavy for his throat – he literally had to vomit them out. “You are safe,” he managed.

He had to tell him that at the very least. “You are safe now. It's over.”

And Bruce did the most incredible thing.

He _smiled._

Not a sardonic, bitter smile, not a mocking, disbelieving smirk, but a soft, self-depreciating half-smile in the corner of his mouth, the exact same smile he had given Steve the first time they had met – _is that the only word on me ?_

He looked down – he had strangely long eyelashes, dark brown, as though they had actually grown thicker to hide his eyes. He let go of the IV tubes, his hand falling back softly on the sheets, even tidying them up a little, smoothing the creases once or twice, as though he was instinctively trying not to leave any traces behind. Not to disturb.

He kept staring at those sheets for a long minute.

“How's Agent Barton ?” he murmured.

Steve closed his eyes.

He wanted Bruce to be nothing but selfish. To yell at him, to yell at them all, to tear the place apart, to shout in indignation and fury, to spent the rest of his life making them all pay for their negligence. The Avengers would not have it this easy, though. It would have been so comfortable, to be abused back.

But Bruce was a hero, and they were not.

Steve took a deep breath. He owed him the plain truth, not matter how unpleasant.

“We got him in intensive care,” he said. “If he's still alive in an hour, he'll make it. But he's – he's in a very bad state.”

The doctor grew distinctly paler.

“But – ” he said weakly. “But _I_ am not – how come I'm – ”

He stopped and his face fell. “Oh,” he said softly, and let out a strange huff of bitter laughter. “It's the Hulk. Isn't it ?”

“We don't know,” Steve said, and he should have realized that _months_ before, they did not know, they knew _nothing at all_ about this man –“Probably. All I can tell you is that you were never in mortal danger. You were going into cryptobiosis when we pulled you out.”

“Cryptobiosis,” Bruce repeated numbly.

Steve almost explained what it was, but bit his tongue right in time. Of course Bruce Banner would know of the phenomenon which boiled down to extreme dormancy of all bodily functions – exactly what had happened to Steve himself, under the ice.

“Yes,” the super-soldier only said. “But something interrupted the process. Which was a good thing – you might still be in a coma otherwise. Fury told me it took them weeks to defrost me.”

He instantly thought he had made a mistake – he shouldn't have mentioned Fury. But then again, Bruce probably deserved to know everything, right away, even though it was obvious he needed to rest more than anything.

“About Fury,” he said.

Bruce's entire body grew extremely taut.

“We haven't decided what to do yet,” Steve said. “We were waiting for you to wake up.”

The doctor did not move and Steve realized just how horribly threatening his words must have sounded. “Nobody's putting you in a cage,” he said hurriedly. “God – no, I can promise _that's_ not going to happen.”

Bruce glanced up a bit at this, his eyes wary and uncertain.

“I was promised that many times,” he said softly.

Steve opened his mouth to protest, to swear he would stay true to his word, but he had kept this man in a cage for _months_ without even realizing it. He had no right to assure him of anything. His helplessness brought a small smile on Bruce's face.

“It's okay, Captain,” he said.

Steve had honestly no idea what he meant by that. Was it okay that he could not find anything to say ? Was it okay that Bruce could not trust anyone not to lock him up ? Was this whole mess okay, just because Bruce was _used_ to this kind of disaster ?

After a moment, the doctor cleared his throat. “So,” he went on. “I _am_ awake. What happens now ?”

With an extremely unpleasant effort, Steve brought his train of thoughts back on track. “We want to talk to you,” he said. “As the Avengers. If you will hear us.”

Bruce looked mildly surprised. “Um – yes,” he said nervously. “Of course I will.”

Steve nodded with relief and got up – but froze when he realized the doctor had tensed up instinctively, as though there was a hook in his flesh linked by a thread to Steve.

“Do you – ” he frowned. “Do you want me to stay ?”

Bruce shook his head with something that almost looked like fear. “No – I didn't meant to... It's just – ” he cut himself off. “Are you going to get them now ?”

“First I'm going to tell them you agreed,” Steve said. “Don't worry, you'll be able to rest for a bit longer. I wish we could do this right now, but Natasha won't move until Clint's stabilized... and Tony's still out cold anyway.”

What little color was left on Bruce's face vanished. “Tony,” he said in a strangled voice. “Did I – how – will he be alright ?”

Steve frowned, then understood in yet another revelation of his profound idiocy. “He's fine, doctor,” he hurried to say. “I don't know what you were told, but the Hulk barely hurt him.”

Bruce blinked at him, still ghastly pale.

“He just passed out after working non-stop to get you out,” Steve said, and began rambling about the draft, the shield, the spiders, the doubly miniaturized reactors, the armor swimming down the forcefield to bring its prisoners back to light, and Tony collapsing as soon as Bruce and Clint were taken away into medical.

When he was done, Bruce gave him a long stare. Steve waited for him to speak. He had thought maybe the doctor would want to hear a confirmation, maybe a reassurance as to whether Clint would make it, or the more realistic promise that Tony would indeed be alright. But as soon as Bruce had heard the billionaire was not actually dying, the anxiety that had lit him up for a split second had deserted him ; he had gone back to his mild-mannered, weary self. He nodded and smiled another of his sad little smiles.

“I see,” he murmured. “Thanks for telling me.”

And Steve found himself simply dismissed – with nothing left to say. Bruce Banner had no use for his empty words.

He nodded stiffly and turned towards the door, the taste of bitter shame lingering in his throat. It was the same feeling when he disappointed his mother as a small kid – the impression that no matter how hard he tried, what he had done was forever unforgivable.

To experience this as an adult, as a would-be hero, was worse than anything he could have ever imagined.

 

*

 

_This is not SHIELD._

 

_This is not Asgard either._

 

_He does not know. His thoughts are simply too tangled and blurry and it pains him to even acknowledge his pain. He cannot remember having ever been so tired and cold before, as though his body would never, ever stop shivering._

 

_He is put down on something soft and giving, and his entire body shivers yet again at the prospect of rest. But he knows only too well that rest is nothing but an illusion among others, a sign of weakness, an opening for pain, and he instinctively straightens up to shove away the man leaning over him._

 

_Strong hands around his shoulders. A soft and rumbling voice in his ears. He does not know. He simply cannot think. He shakes his head and tries to break free, but the hold tightens painfully, keeps him in place, and something is tugging at his clothes, undressing him._

 

_His wrung-out mind is so inert that the memory just comes back to the surface, all conscious and subconscious filters gone. He was very young, he had trained in armor for the first time and suffered a crushing defeat. Thor had found him alone, almost weeping with frustrated humiliation, mainly because he could not even take off his armor on his own. Thor had laughed and taunted him, but he had also helped him to get out of the constricting leather, patiently unlacing laces and unbuckling buckles._

 

_Later, Loki had figured out how to dress himself through magic._

 

_He is not wearing armor now, but his clothes are stiff and thick and encrusted with blood on the inside – some days at SHIELD, he had been too tired or simply not fast enough to scrub it all off before he was forcefully dressed and brought back to his cell._

 

_When he is bare-chested and barefoot, he is pushed down on his stomach. Before he can move, someone draws the covers over his head. He wants to snarl and and fight because he is not a child to be put to bed, but it feels as though the softness under his body is sucking his energy right out._

 

_His eyes close despite his efforts not to give in._

 

_Surprisingly enough, he does not sleep right away. He thinks of the past day. He thinks of hot silver crumbling in his hand. He thinks of smoldering ruins. Eventually, he just thinks of how tired he is._

 

_He passes out more than he drifts off._

 

_*_

 

Erik was waiting for him downstairs, and flashed him an anxious look. Thor gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Worry not, my friend. He is deeply asleep.”

The doubt was clear in Selvig's eyes, but he was a man of honor, and he had claimed to trust Thor ; so he was careful not to raise further objections, although his displeasure was evident. He only gave a stiff nod. “Come on, then.”

The skies of New Mexico out the window and the smell of fresh coffee awoke a thousand memories in Thor's mind. It only made his heart clench more painfully at the thought of what he was about to do. He shook his long hair and followed Erik to the kitchen, where Jane was impatiently waiting for them.

She got up as soon as they came in ; Thor opened his mouth to repeat what he had just said to Selvig, but she shut him off with a hand on his cheek. They looked into each other's eyes for a while.

She stood on her tiptoes to wrap a hand behind his neck, and kissed him.

Thor should not have let her, but he could not stop himself from giving in. Although he barely knew her, although she was mortal and different from him in more ways than he could count, all he could feel was how strongly he loved her and how simply right it felt to hold her in his arms. He pressed her against him and returned the kiss, slowly, relishing this small moment of peace between two storms.

Selvig gave an awkward cough and started tinkering loudly with the coffee mugs, but none of them could reconcile themselves with breaking their embrace just yet ; so they lingered for a bit longer, breathing each other in ; letting themselves realize they were alive together, and how it sufficed to change the world.

They had to part eventually, and Thor was the one to initiate it, albeit regretfully. “So,” he said, his voice strangely hoarse and sad even to his own ears. “You did mention coffee.”

Jane smiled. “I knew there was a reason you came back.”

He chuckled and all three sat together around the kitchen table. Selvig filled Thor's mug and the demi-god drank it in two gulps, thankful for the bitter, electrifying taste in his throat. When he put his cup down, Jane and Erik were looking at him with round eyes.

“What is it ?” he frowned.

Jane stared for another second, then let out a small laugh. “Nothing, it's just – it's boiling hot, you know.”

Erik smiled for the first time. “You didn't change, God of Thunder. I'm really glad to see you, and I'm sorry if I didn't look like it.”

“It is quite alright,” Thor said in earnest. “And I must apologize to you, Erik. I wanted to visit after Manhattan – make sure you had recovered. But I have been... otherwise busy.”

The atmosphere was so pregnant with Loki's name that Thor almost expected the steam of their mugs to spell it in the air. Erik winced.

“Recovered,” he repeated with some sort of wryness. “I suppose I did.”

He was obviously reluctant to dwell on, and Jane looked down. Thor slightly clenched his hand around the mug. He was no insensitive fool, whatever Loki might think of him. These people had suffered greatly ; Asgardians were to blame ; and there was nothing he could say or do to fix it, only respect Erik's wish not to discuss his journey through hell.

“And Agent Barton ?” Selvig asked. “How is he ?”

Thor should have expected this question, seeing how both men had suffered a common fate. He opened his mouth, but could not bring himself to tell them that Clint Barton was actually in mortal danger – it would have been too odd of a place to start his long story. He just nodded and said, “He... recovered, as well.”

Erik nodded and sipped his coffee. There was a pause, during which Thor looked at a sun ray slowly creeping up the table and over his hand. It was still so early in the day.

“Are you going to tell us what's _he_ doing here ?” Selvig said. “And why he's in such a state ?”

Thor kept staring at the sun spot for another second. Even the dumbest of all fools would have known of whom Erik talked about, but for a second, he wished himself simple and ignorant enough to enjoy this beam of light, the recent memory of Jane's lips against his, the taste of coffee, and the warmth of it all.

He sighed, then looked up and began to speak. He began with Odin's decision to sell Loki to Midgard as a compensation for the harm done, and they listened in earnest. Throughout the story, Jane wanted to know more about Bruce Banner's fate ; but it had never been in Thor's hands, and he knew nothing of value. He told them at length about Loki, though. Told them about the torture, but also about the abuse he must have put Banner through. Told them about the bottled earthquake, and finally about Clint Barton crushed underground with the Hulk for four days straight. This time, it was Selvig's turn to demand precisions ; but once again, Thor could tell him nothing more, except for the fact that Barton was still between life and death when he had left.

“But they're both out now,” Jane concluded in a slightly shaking voice. “And they're both alive.”

Thor nodded. “Indeed, they are.”

 _For now._ But there was no need to say it out loud.

Yet another silence stretched out, more painful and tense than the previous one. The demi-god closed his eyes, wishing he was young again and lying next to his brother in their tent. They used to listen to the cold wind hissing outside after a long day of battle, and whisper to each other in the dark until sleep carried them away. Things were so much simpler back then. Or was Loki already hurt beyond repair, without him noticing it ?

“Thor ?” Jane murmured.

He looked up with an effort. “Yes, my love.”

“Why are you here ?” she said gently.

She hesitated, then instinctively looked up to the ceiling, towards the small room filled with cardboard boxes and stacks of files, in which Loki was sleeping on an uncomfortable cot.

“Why are you _both_ here ?”

And Thor finally told them what he intended to do, and what he needed from them.

 

*

 

“Doctor.”

It was a miracle Bruce did not startle awake at the sound of that voice.

He did his best to stay motionless. There was the sound of a chair drawn on his right, and of a man seating down with a grunt. Then nothing, for a few more seconds.

“I don't think playing dead's the best strategy here,” the deep voice said.

The doctor opened his eyes and turned his head. Nick Fury was sitting on Steve's chair, staring at him with intensity.

“Welcome back,” he said in a low tone.

Bruce highly doubted it. He licked his lips, then pushed on his arms to straighten against the wall. The effort made him shiver. He was still exhausted beyond belief, and his pounding heart did not help.

Fury stared at him for a while longer, his eye black and cold. Then he talked again, in a very calm, very dispassionate voice.

“Barton is dead.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SORRY.
> 
> (Also, the interactions between all the characters just keep getting more complicated and intricate from now on, so comments are even more welcome than before. A humongous THANK YOU to everyone who already commented. You have no idea what it means to me !
> 
> Next update... on Wednesday, I guess.)


	21. Decision

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bruce could only will his mind to white out, but he was denied even this small grace. Staring back at Fury, he felt himself starting to shake. This must be a lie. A deception of some kind.

Fury's gaze seemed to darken even more, as though he had guessed Bruce's thoughts and would not let him sully the memory of one of his best agents with such doubts. “He died two and a half minutes ago,” he said curtly. “There was not much hope. He had six broken ribs and a concussion. He was exhausted, starved and dehydrated.”

He looked down at Bruce. “And most of all, he was just human.”

The doctor said nothing.

Fury drew his chair a bit closer. “Which brings me to my next point. You.”

Bruce closed his eyes. “I didn't want this to happen,” he heard himself say.

And what a brilliant defense _that_ was. Even he felt like laughing through his despair.

Fury's leather coat creaked when he straightened up in his chair.

“What you wanted or not does not matter anymore, doctor. What matters is that _you_ are the one who survived.”

“Because I'm not human,” the doctor said hollowly.

“Because you're not human,” Fury nodded, apparently satisfied that Bruce caught up so fast.

Bruce reopened his eyes and looked at him. His eyes were burning, but sadly, he knew he would not cry. He was too used to loss. He still had a hard time swallowing around the painful lump in his throat.

“I think it's safe to say that you are virtually immortal,” Fury went on. “Tell me, doctor – what were you intending to do before I walked in this room ?”

Bruce was unable to think. But then again, he did not need to think when it came to his intentions ; they had always been the same for the past decade. He swallowed again and murmured, “Run.”

“I thought so.” Fury laced his hands together. “Doctor, I could lock you up – but we both know you'd escape eventually, and then we'd go back in the same vicious circle. I am here to put an end to it.”

He stared at him for another second then said, “I want to make you an offer.”

Bruce looked at him through a veil of numbness. “You want me to stay ?”

“No,” Fury said abruptly. “I _need_ you to stay. Now that you destroyed our research on Loki, you are our heaviest gun. And I need you to _embrace_ it. To start acting like the weapon you are.”

His glare was sharp and fierce. “You caused a lot of harm by trying to stay true to some old-fashioned notions. But we are at war, doctor. If you want to avoid further losses, you need to chose a side. _And stick to it.”_

Bruce thought of Loki's lips brushing his ear, of the poisoned honey of his voice. _You will yield – like you always do._

“We are only human, doctor,” the director said. “But you could be our shield. You could be SHIELD.”

Bruce stared at him for a long minute.

“What do you want me to do ?” he murmured eventually.

“Work for us,” Fury snapped back. _“Fight_ for us. Be our soldier as well as our weapon. Don't think ; don't question the orders ; always do as you're told. This way, we can preserve as many lives as possible.”

The doctor wavered, but Fury's eye was like a string holding him upright.

“Do you remember those videos you erased, doctor ?” he said in a low voice.

A pang of long-forgotten anger pierced through Bruce's numbness – but it vanished instantly. There was a time where he was always angry. He had never thought he would one day come to regret it. His wrath was gone, and the Hulk was left weaker, smaller, as lost and powerless as him now.

“I remember,” he said under his breath.

“You'll have to put up with our ways,” Fury said. “The world's not a nice place, doctor.”

Bruce's anger briefly flared again. “I know that.”

“Yet you insisted on playing nice. And look at where you are now.”

Bruce instinctively opened his mouth find an objection, because when he had freed Loki – even when he had woken up in the Hydra base – he had been certain he was doing what was right, no matter how excruciating it felt. But when he searched for arguments to oppose Fury, he could only think of Loki's hands on him. He had freed him – lost everything – and for what ? He was a wreck.

And Clint was dead.

Had it been worth it ?

His mouth was still open, but he still could not decide what to say. And Fury was waiting.

 

*

 

Sitting at Loki's bedside, Thor thought he would have to fight off slumber, but he had actually no trouble in staying awake. Jane and Erik had been working all night as usual, mapping stars and magic of their own ; now that the sun was close from its height, they had gone to bed. It was astounding that Selvig should manage to sleep knowing that Loki was under his roof. But then again, it was most likely that he was actually lying down wide awake, eyes wide open, perhaps tossing and turning from times to times. Jane must not be asleep either, really. But they had had the courtesy to let Thor think they were undisturbed by his staying.

When he had told them his decision, Erik had vehemently tried to dissuade him, talking about Odin, about the Avengers, about himself. He had not dared to mention Jane seeing as she was in the room, but he did not need to utter this particular argument for Thor to hear it. Jane could have put up an even more violent fight. But she had stayed silent. Her unspoken, absolute trust made Thor's heart clench with both pride and sadness.

His gaze set on his brother's limp form again. The covers had slightly slid down his body. He was still lying on his stomach, his face half-buried behind his folded arm, his features sharp and pale even in his sleep. Thor still remembered him as the bony boy who had hidden in the stables to cry with helpless rage because he could not take off his heavy, cumbersome armor. Loki had always preferred books and magic ; yet today, his body was sculpted with pain and fighting, like any warrior's body. The muscles of his shoulders and back were wiry, like a bundle of snakes under the skin, clenching convulsively at times, as dreams passed by his wrecked mind.

Thor reached out, hesitated for a second, then put his hand flat on his brother's pale back.

Loki startled under his touch like a wild beast and sat bolt upright. He stared at him for a good twenty seconds, his chest heaving with surprise, anger, and – Thor could see it – fear.

Eventually, Loki's blank expression turned into a more usual disdain ; his eyes darted around, taking note of the dusty computers and cardboard boxes.

“What is this place ?” he hissed in a low voice.

Thor frowned. “You do not remember ?”

He had not realized until then just _how_ exhausted his brother was, to the point of losing his mind with tiredness – although the fact that he had let himself get undressed should have been a strong clue. As though he had followed the same train of thoughts, Loki appeared to realize he was half-naked. The discarded clothes on the floor instantly vanished in a haze of gold to come wrap themselves around his body – and Loki looked like he only remembered now that his silver chain had been taken off.

But none of the fierce joy Thor expected crossed his face. He only looked more bitter and angry, sharply looking away as though he wished not to dwell on it.

“No restraints,” he said heatedly. “And an abandoned mortal house. What dumb plan have you brewed this time, to try and reason me ?”

“It is not abandoned,” Thor said. “Although I must admit Jane can be a little untidy.”

Loki stared at him for a minute, until his eyes slowly widened.

“That _woman,”_ he choked. “You brought _me –_ into her _house ?”_

Thor's silence could only be heard as assent.

Loki's scowl was probably meant as a smirk. “Oh, how you will come to regret this, Odinson,” he said in a low, dangerous voice.

“You will not hurt her,” Thor said firmly.

His brother let out a disbelieving snigger. “See if you can stop me.”

“You will _not,”_ Thor said a bit more threateningly. “I asked these people for help, because they are the only other Midgardians I know and trust.”

“Help ?” Loki sneered. “How can he be in need of help, he who has both the power of Asgard and of SHIELD at his feet ?”

Thor stared at him gravely.

“I thought,” he said quietly, “that you would have understood by now.”

A hint of hesitation flickered through Loki's eyes. They stared at each other for long minutes.

“Loki,” Thor said eventually. “You were correct – I must do what is right. I must punish you. I must bring you to justice again and let you pay for your crimes.”

The demi-god let out an unpleasant, weary laugh. “And I am certain my suffering will cause you great dismay, oh noble one.”

“This is my duty,” Thor said, “as a prince and an Avenger.”

He locked eyes with Loki.

“Which is why I renounce to both these titles.”

 

*

 

Bruce still had not said a thing when the door burst open, making him startle violently. Tony was standing in the frame, looking about ready to explode with wrath.

He marched on Fury and grabbed him at the collar. _“You. fucking. dickhead,”_ he snarled through gritted teeth, his face two inches from him.

He was not the strongest person of the team – he might even be the weakest, when you thought about it – yet he almost lifted Fury off his chair and slammed him against the wall, shaking with rage.

“Bruce,” he said in a low, cutting voice. “What did he tell you ?”

Bruce himself was frightened by his tone – and he was no stranger to anger. “I – I don't – ”

 _“WHAT DID HE TELL YOU ?”_ Tony shouted.

Fury's lip curled up, and he shoved the billionaire back. “I told him the goddamn truth, Stark.”

 _“Your_ truth,” Tony said in a poisoned voice. “I saw you burst out of medical as soon as Barton went into cardiac arrest. Only so nobody accuse you of lying, uh ? See no evil, speak no evil ?” He sniggered fiercely. “That's low, even for you.”

Bruce felt like the sun was rising in his chest.

“Tony ?” he breathed in a voice not daring yet to sound hopeful.

“Barton is alive,” Tony said sharply, still staring at Fury. “They managed to revive him on the third try.”

It was astounding how Fury managed to look grave and calm even through the most violent storms. “I am glad to hear it,” he said, slow and honest, staring right back at Tony.

He then gave a quick glance towards Bruce. “But it does not change anything to our conversation, doctor.”

Tony suddenly raised a finger at him as though it was a weapon of mass destruction. “Talk to him again,” he hissed, _“look_ at him again, and I swear I'll take you down.”

A half-smile tugged at the right corner of Fury's mouth. He pushed Tony's hand away.

“You had a long day, Stark. I'll let you cool down for a while.”

He spun on his heels and waved a mock salute without looking behind him. “I'm sure you have _many_ things to say to our good doctor anyway.”

And with that, he left the room.

Tony just stayed where he was, breathing heavily, his fists clenched so tightly his whole body was trembling. Bruce had never seen him in such a state.

He was so certain that the billionaire would indeed turn to talk to him that he didn't even think of calling him back when Tony just left the room.

 

Bruce stared at the empty doorframe for a few seconds, blinking – then suddenly pushed back the covers and got up, as though the mattress had filled with needles. He was only wearing a shirt and slacks, and the floor was cold under his bare feet ; everything spun around him for a few seconds before he could actually stand, nausea heaving in his stomach as though he was on a boat, but he was used to the feeling. He could not bear to lie down for another second anyway – waiting alone in a room had never done him well before.

And he _hated_ hospital beds.

He walked out of his room with an uncertain gait and went down the corridor – he had to stop more than once to put a hand against the wall and take a few deep breaths, until the world stopped undulating. Eventually, he came across a small bathroom and staggered inside with relief. He leaned over the sink, wondered for a second if he needed to throw up, then decided against it and turned on the water to splash his face. When he looked up, a bit breathless with cold, he caught sight of himself in the mirror.

Drops of water were running down his stubbly face or hanging in his hair like beads of dew. He had stopped caring about what he looked like a long time ago – it was always the same anyway : dark rings under red, tired eyes, disheveled hair over a pale, unhealthy face. But the familiarity of his own image – the only thing familiar he had left after all these years – usually helped him to think.

He took a deep breath and thought, _Clint lives._

He let the thought bloom into him and fill him with unsullied warmth. Barton was free from his underground prison ; and he had survived the hour. He would make it. At least one disaster had been averted, and Bruce wondered whether he wasn't actually staggering with overflowing relief. _Clint is alive,_ he repeated to himself, trying to wring out every ounce of self-being he could get from this single good thing. _Clint is alive, Clint is alive, Clint is alive._

He stayed motionless for a few seconds, breathing through his bliss.

But he then remembered _he_ was alive, too. And he was not positive that was such a good thing. He now had to think about a future he never thought he would have, and he was not sure what he ought to do with himself.

Fury had made his opinion on the subject clear enough. And Bruce had to admit that he could not reasonably start running again, no matter how much he wanted to. It would only be a matter of time before he caused another catastrophe. And ending his life was not an option.

_Start acting like the weapon you are._

Bruce had wanted to be an Avenger, precisely because of that old-fashioned notion Fury now seemed to despise so much. Precisely because they were _not_ soldiers. But he was not fit to be a hero. His pitiful efforts to do the right thing had spectacularly backfired – like they always did, when he dwelt on it. But willing submission was something he had not tried yet.

The thought of becoming SHIELD's mindless weapon still made his skin prickle. He could not trust anyone with the Hulk's power. He could not trust anyone, period. But it seemed now that he could not even trust _himself_. And Fury had showed him that he did not have to. He just had to submit to SHIELD and let them take the decisions for him.

It would take off the guilt from his shoulders, at the very least. And that was a burden he had carried for oh so long. He thought of waking up with his hands covered his blood, and pictured a gentle hand wiping the red away, a soothing voice saying, _nobody is blaming you, doctor. You were only doing your job. You were only following orders. You did good. You did us proud –_

He suddenly thought of Loki, struggling in steel restraints and screaming with insane pain. _You will have to put up with our ways, doctor._

Then he thought of a different Loki, standing in the red emergency light, teeth gleaming in a maniacal smirk, radiating savagery and madness. He thought of Loki slaughtering innocents in Stuttgart and opening a blue portal in the skies. He thought of Loki backing him against the wall –

– but no. No, that was _his_ own fault.

Still – had Loki not deserved a punishment ? Could Bruce really insist that he had done the right thing by freeing him – by giving him back his powers ?

He suddenly realized nobody had told him anything about Loki – nor about Thor. Where were they now ? In a SHIELD base ? Back on Asgard ? Could Loki have been –

Bruce's train of thoughts abruptly stopped and he started to laugh, a very small, very sad laugh, alone in the cold bathroom. He was hopeless, worrying about Loki all over again as soon as he suspected he might have been captured. No, he was decidedly unable to learn.

Whether he had been right or not, he could only observe the facts – he had unleashed a great threat upon the world. And _he_ certainly belonged in a cage for it. In SHIELD's idea of a cage, maybe – a silent soldier, bowing to orders and looking the other way when he was told to do so. And was it really so horrible a fate ? Could it not be for the best – could it not be the only way to preserve the greater good ?

What other options did he have, anyway ?

He looked at himself, stared into his own eyes, searching for an answer.

 

*

 

Thor soon realized Loki would not grace him with a reaction. His lost brother was staring at him, his lips pressed in a tight line, his face impossibly pale, his eyes impossibly sharp.

“I told Jane,” Thor said. “I gave her my earpiece. She will warn the Avengers of my defection after we leave her house. As to Asgard... I trust Heimdall will notice the treason of their prince soon enough.”

“Treason,” Loki scoffed.

“That's what it is indeed,” Thor said calmly.

His lost brother kept staring at him for another minute.

“You know,” he said slowly in his cool, elegant voice. “I do believe this is in fact your most stupid, foolish decision to date, in a life filled with stupid, foolish decisions.”

“Oh,” the thunderer acknowledged politely. “And how so ?”

Loki narrowed his eyes, but did not answer.

“Loki,” Thor said. “You hurt many people. I hurt only you – but I hurt you greatly. And I cannot keep punishing you for your actions when I am so indebted to you. It is only deepening the pit of your hatred, and this vicious circle has to end.”

It seemed the immensity of his brother's contempt could not fit in a single scoff. “And you think you can pull me out of it, Odinson ? You think your treacly sentiment can tame me ?”

“Indeed no,” Thor said. “I know you will not leave the darkness ; which is why I will come down in the darkness with you.”

He took a silent breath, then went on, “I give up on the throne. I give up on Mjölnir. I give up on my friends and on Jane. I betray them all, on my own free volition. There shall be only you, until you forgive me or until we both die.”

Loki gave him a long, blank stare.

Eventually, he said in a dispassionate voice :

“I hate you.”

For some reason, this calm, flat statement hurt Thor more than any of Loki's snarls and screams.

He closed his eyes briefly, then got up.

“Come, brother. We have a long way to go.”

 

*

 

“Doctor.”

Bruce looked up. There was someone next to him in the mirror – a woman with red hair and purple marks on her neck.

His hands clenched on the sink ; he took a deep breath, then turned to face her.

“Natasha,” he said wearily. “Hi.”

He thought about asking her how she felt, but he feared he would sound mocking or insulting.

“Does Fury want his answer already ?” he said with a wry smile. “He's a bit impatient.”

“I don't know what Fury wants,” she said calmly.

She walked inside and, to Bruce's great surprise, grabbed his hand. She led him out the bathroom without letting go of him, her fingers an iron grip.

“Come on now," she ordererd curtly. "They're all waiting for you.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this chapter, my dear readers. Please, do keep letting me know. ^^
> 
> Everything is slowly setting in place for the final act.


	22. Labyrinth

 

 

 

 

 

 

For some unfathomable reason, holding hands with Natasha made Bruce feel like the little boy he once had been – weak and at the mercy of adults taller and stronger than him. She was by no means tall, but her hold was firm, and he knew he could not pull free if he tried.

_They're all waiting for you._

Out of the blue, his stomach physically twisted and clenched with fear. _Please don't,_ he wanted to beg – but he had no right to speak up, and nowhere else to go anyway. Still – the sudden realization that he was about to face _all_ the Avengers at once was enough to take his breath away with terror. Some traitor he was, not even able to face the judgment of his peers. Loki certainly outclassed him in that – Bruce briefly wondered how he had reacted to the announcement that he was to be sold, like a piece of meat, by the very man he had thought to be his father for a thousand years. Probably with a sneer and a taunt. Both things for which Bruce had no talent whatsoever ; he only knew how to run, and hide, and run some more.

Natasha stopped, and Bruce knew they were standing before the door of Clint's hospital room. At the thought that he was about to see him, he was filled, once again, with unrequited, out-of-place joy. Strange – the Hulk's raw emotions should have faded by now. Bruce had been out long enough for his subconscious to settle back in place. Maybe it was just the prospect of seeing for himself that the archer was indeed still alive.

He looked down and took a deep breath. _You could at the very least stop lying to yourself, Banner._ He angrily shook the thought away – why couldn't he just _stop_ torturing himself with that ? Of all the things he wished for in vain, this was probably the most petty, the most futile – yet the most deeply rooted, as it seemed.

“Doctor,” Natasha said gently.

He looked up, a bit surprised at her tone.

She hesitated, then said softly : “This is not a trial.”

After a second of reflection, she added, “Not yours, anyway.”

And she opened the door.

 

*

 

It was the middle of the afternoon when Thor and Loki finally left Selvig's house. Thor had convinced them that it would be easier for everyone if they never actually met Loki while he was fully conscious of himself. Selvig could not have agreed more, although Thor knew a bit of wounded pride to be hidden in there somewhere – Erik never had the chance to face Loki and stand tall, like Barton had after the battle. Thor really did not need more people spitting on his brother, though – no matter how much of a retribution Erik deserved.

Jane's reaction had been surprisingly more vehement. She insisted she ought to see the trickster and make him face his actions. In the end, Thor just had had to outright tell her that Loki wanted her dead.

“Me ?” she had said with surprise. “But I never met him.”

“He already saw you once,” Thor had explained painfully. “Through the Destroyer's eyes. He saw how – how much you cared about me.”

She had stared at him. “He wants to kill me because I love you ?”

“He wants to kill you, because _I_ love _you,_ my dearest,” Thor had said almost in despair. “It is me he seeks to hurt. He has wanted to harm you ever since I first came back on Asgard after my banishment. Please, never give him that chance.”

Selvig had snorted. “And that's the man you're ruining your life for ? You really think it's all worth it ?”

“Yes,” Thor had spat darkly. “Indeed he is _worth it,_ Erik.”

Jane had stared at him with a strange spark in his eyes.

“Yes,” she had said. “That's what I think, too.”

He had looked up with surprise, but she had only kissed him, and he had forgotten everything in the painful bliss of their last moment.

“Goodbye,” she had whispered. “And good luck, Thor.”

Heart-wrenching as it was, it was not this last word which kept tormenting Thor's mind, but what Jane had said just before. Had she implied she knew Loki through Erik's nightmares ? Or had she, through their short conversation, realized something Thor had not been able to spot ? He should have asked her, but now it was too late.

He opened the front door and pushed Loki out. His lost brother squinted at the sun, then looked around with disdain.

“Let us go,” Thor said, grabbing his arm to jostle him forward.

Loki did not resist and followed him under the burning skies, his leather clothes billowing at each of his steps. Thor had left his armor behind along with Mjölnir ; he was dressed in the most catch-all Midgardian outfit Jane could find – dark jeans, a black shirt, and a black sports jacket.

“So this is your plan,” Loki said in an unimpressed voice as they walked towards the old trailer. “Pointlessly roaming Midgard until the All-father sends his Einherjars after us.”

“He will not,” Thor said. “He has no authority over us. He sold you to Midgard – and as for me, I have every right to abdicate if it is my good pleasure.”

He opened the door. “Get in.”

Loki climbed inside and sat in the passenger seat. Thor took his place behind the wheel and slammed the door shut.

“You do realize, of course,” Loki said in a low voice, “that I will disappear as soon as I am strong enough to conjure the appropriate spell.”

“So be it,” Thor said absently, turning the power on.

Selvig and Jane had carefully explained to him how to drive a car. It had sounded like child's play. Thor knew actual practice would prove him wrong, but he was confident he had done more difficult things in his life – and indeed, he managed to master the vehicle fast enough ; soon he had gotten it on the straight, wide road, and everything went even easier from there. His driving was probably awful according to Midgardian standards, but he did not care much.

“This is,” Loki spat, _“ridiculous !”_

Thor did not answer.

“Where are we even going ? What can you possibly hope for ?”

“Nowhere and nothing in particular” the thunderer answered. “The journey is what matters, Loki. You of all people should know that.”

His brother let out a venomous scoff. “You know _nothing_ of my journey.”

“Indeed you told me nothing.”

The rumbling of the vehicle was somewhat soothing, but it had obviously no effect whatsoever on Loki, who seemed to grow more aggressive by the second. Thor suspected his own passivity to be the main cause of his brother's fury.

“It was no concern of yours, _Odinson.”_

“You made that clear enough,” Thor said in a low voice.

It was beginning to rain. He fidgeted a bit awkwardly for a second, then managed to find the windshield command. For some reason, the rivulets of water being swiped out of sight seemed to infuriate Loki even more.

“Why should I indulge in your ludicrous whim ?” he snarled. “You are making fools out of both of us – and when I am gone, you will be a fool alone in your miserable scrap heap !”

“But you are not gone yet,” Thor said calmly. “You are too weak and hurt.”

He briefly glanced towards him. “When Fury was dissecting you in those sunless chambers, have you never prayed for my help ? Have you never wished I would find out and come for you ?”

Loki showed his teeth and articulated the word so clearly it sound like _he_ was dissecting _it. “Never.”_

Thor looked back at the road. “Yet I did come for you.”

“No,” Loki said brusquely. “Banner got me out.”

“Indeed,” the thunderer acknowledged. “And how did you repay him for his kindness ?”

“I freed him right back.”

Thor's hands clenched on the wheel. _“Freed,_ Loki ?”

Surprisingly enough, the demi-god did not answer.

Thor took a deep breath. “Is that how you feel ?” he mumbled. “Free ?”

“That is how I _will_ feel in a few days,” Loki said. “Once I escape this grotesque sham of yours.”

This time, it was Thor's turn not to answer, and it apparently exasperated Loki beyond logic.

“Does your hopeless incapacity to detain me not trouble you – at _least_ a little ?” he snapped.

The thunderer glanced at him with a smile. “Not really.”

He paused for a second, then went on, “I would rather have you by my side. But wherever you are shall make no difference to me in the end.”

Loki furrowed his brow in incomprehension. Thor looked back at the road again. “You call it a sham,” he said, “as though you expected me to go back to Asgard once I am alone. But there is no return for me, just as there was once no return for you.”

His voice was very calm. “I will roam Midgard as a traitor, with or without you.”

“You think they will give up ?” Loki said, so seething he could barely speak. “They were only too happy to push me out – but _you ?_ They will not let go of their precious golden prince so easily !”

“Then I shall fight them,” Thor said curtly. “Until they understand I am not of Asgard anymore.”

“This is ridiculous !” Loki barked again.

Thor leaned back against his seat. “Why does it trouble you so ? You have always wished for my demise.”

In truth, he knew very well why Loki was so furious. He had wished for Thor's demise, yes – but for a demise he would have caused. When Loki had fallen, he had found his place in a wicked way – forced Asgard to look upon him not as a shadow of his brother for the first time ; forced them to regard him as a unique, if despicable, person. But now, Thor rivaled him even as a traitor. Loki was pushed into the background again, stripped from both his vengeance and Asgard's attention. This must be unbearably infuriating for him.

And indeed, when Loki spoke again, it was with an actual sob of helpless rage – Thor remained the only one who could get to him this way, and it must be yet another admission of weakness to Loki's eyes.

 _“Why,”_ he choked with violence, “can you not stop _tormenting_ me ?”

Thor glanced at him one last time. “It is our duty as brothers,” he said quietly, “to torment each other.”

 

*

 

When Bruce walked inside, all he could see at first was Clint. The archer was lying unconscious in his hospital bed, looking pale and sick, but his heartbeat was reassuringly steady on the monitors, his breathing deep and regular. Bruce felt actually heady with relief and closed his eyes for a second.

When he reopened them, he saw the others.

Tony looked awful – so awful that Bruce could have easily believed _he_ had been the one going into cardiac arrest not an hour ago. His eyes were completely dark ; he was so tense Bruce feared he would snap in half ; and he stubbornly looked at a blank spot on the wall, even though he was quite obviously conscious of the doctor's presence. Steve looked about as distressed as him, but at least he did not seem like he was about to collapse – and he acknowledged Bruce's presence the second he entered the room.

“Doctor,” he said, getting up as Natasha closed the door. “Please, have a seat.”

Bruce smiled weakly. “Thanks, but I'd rather stand.”

Steve looked even more dismayed ; the doctor guessed he had probably rehearsed this scene a thousand times in his mind, and that every detail not going accordingly to the plan would throw him off balance. But his heart was pounding too painfully for him to sit down, if that even made sense. He wanted to stand as long as he could at the very least.

“Okay,” Steve said nervously. “Of course. I...”

He glanced towards Tony – and since when did Steve seek _Tony's_ help in delicate matters ? – but the billionaire made it very clear that he was dead to the world. His lockdown mode apparently helped Steve to get back in the saddle. This was the reason he was a hero – fighting when others could not.

Bruce was growing more confused by the second. Everything here seemed to indicate that indeed, the Avengers expected _him_ to blame _them._ What had Clint said ? _We want to apologize properly._ But it just did not make sense.

“Captain,” he cut off, even as the super-soldier looked like he was finally finding his feet. Steve's wounded look made Bruce even more uncomfortable, but he would rather make things as clear as possible. “Sorry – but, please, listen. None of this is your fault. I... I should have come to you the second I found out about Loki. The reason I didn't...”

He struggled for words in a silence of stone. “God,” he murmured eventually, rubbing his face. “How could I even think that you might... that you might have agreed with this. Any of you.”

He waited, but Steve apparently was not going to cut him off.

“I don't think I even thought it through,” Bruce went on with an effort. “I never thought about telling anyone, actually. After all these years, I guess I got used to – no, that is not an excuse.”

He swallowed thickly. “I should have known I could trust you.”

Tony let out a scoff, so sudden and so noisy that everyone startled – except for Clint, still out cold in a world of bleeps and green lines. They all stared at the billionaire for a second, but he just pressed a fist against his closed lips and resumed studying the wall as though the secrets of the universe lay hidden beneath it.

“I...” Bruce hesitated, but Tony would not say anything indeed, so he forced himself to go on, “I don't have any excuses – I _know_ it could only end up in an dreadful mess. I – I tried to minimize the damage, but, well, I guess I've failed quite spectacularly with that – ” he let out a wry laugh. “Everything I did just made it worse. But I swear I never _meant_ – ”

He stopped himself. _But Mom, I didn't mean it._ He was only embarrassing himself here.

“I tried to do the right thing,” he still said.

Loki's screams suddenly echoed in his ears as clearly as though he had been there. He closed his eyes and said in a small, small voice, “I wasn't strong enough.”

“Doctor,” Natasha said behind him.

He turned to face her. She looked... a bit too pale.

“Can't you see why you couldn't tell us ?”

He just blinked at her, feeling lost, and she sighed.

“I'll tell you why – ”

“Because we never listened.” Tony blurted.

He was still staring at the wall. “Because he didn't have a single fucking reason to trust us.”

“Tony,” Steve began wearily, but it only made the billionaire clench his jaw so hard Bruce was afraid his teeth would shatter.

“ _What,_ Steve ?”he barked. “Fuck, he can't even see it. He thinks it's his fault. And you're all sitting here thinking we can calmly talk this out ? Say we're sorry and everything’s fine ? We broke it all and you won't even face it !”

“Tony,” Natasha said this time, but the billionaire suddenly looked at her with frightening savagery.

“ _No,”_ he hissed threateningly. “There's _nothing_ to be done here. You think you have a right to ask him for _forgiveness ?_ We shouldn't even be in the same _room._ This is over – the Avengers, Iron Man, Captain Fucking America – everything is over ! Because we deserve nothing and nothing can change that !”

His hand clenched on the ARC reactor, his nails scraping the glass beneath the fistful of fabric, as though he was trying to rip it out. “What's broken,” he snarled, _“stays_ broken ! We should've figured that out much earlier – and if you think we're better than that, then _fucking think_ _again !”_

He strode out of the room and slammed the door shut so hard the walls trembled.

“He's going to his suit,” Natasha warned, ready to run after him, but Steve stopped her.

“Let him.”

He rubbed his forehead for a minute. “He needs to be alone, and we're all going back to Stark Tower anyway.”

He looked up at Bruce. “Do you agree with him, doc ?” he asked wearily. “Is it the end ?”

Bruce was petrified.

This had to stop. This just had to stop. Everything was falling apart. Tony was consumed by guilt, and the others were not much better. It did not really matter who really was to be blamed – the damage was equal on both sides. They had to start building again, even though the foundations were nonexistent, or Tony would be right. They would all be beyond repair.

 _Oh,_ Loki's voice chuckled in Bruce's ear. _Trying to make it all better, are we now, Banner ?_

Bruce stopped breathing.

 _Because that worked so well last time,_ Loki's voice went on. _Because you're so skilled in mending the broken._

A pang of anger flashed through him. _Yes,_ he answered fiercely. _Yes, as a matter of fact, I am._

Which did not mean that he was not the one breaking things in the first place – or that he was able to mend himself ; but that was a different matter entirely. He waited, but Loki's voice did not add anything.

He took a deep breath and met Steve's gaze.

“No,” he said softly. “We can't let it be the end, Captain. There are people out there who need you.”

“There are people out there who need _you,”_ Natasha said softly.

Bruce gave a wry chuckle at that, but Steve was not laughing. “Doctor,” he said. “I know Fury talked to you earlier. I don't know what he told you, but – please, don't make a decision just now.”

He held out his hand. “Come back to Stark Tower with us. I'm not asking you to stay forever – I'm not even asking you to be an Avenger. But... give us a month. I know it's more than we should ask, considering – ” He clenched his jaw, probably realizing that deep down, he agreed with Tony and had almost let it show.

“We all need some time,” Natasha said helpfully. “Let's spend it in the same place. Maybe something good can come out of it.”

Bruce looked at Steve's hand, then at the limp form of the archer in the white sheets.

“What about Clint ?” he asked.

“He's coming with us,” Steve instantly said. “We've got everything he'll need at the Tower. And he's a part of it too.”

Bruce swallowed. He still thought that a month was more than _he_ should ask. Still thought that the Avengers were cruelly mistaken in their guilt. But they were in a dead end here, both dead set on insisting that the other was the victim. Bruce knew there was no way he could simply _talk_ Tony out of his error – Natasha was right. They all needed time, living proof. And even though Bruce did not think for a second he deserved a second chance, even though the thought outright revolted him, even though it felt horribly wrong for _him_ to take a decision of his own as though he was in charge here – despite all that, something just _had_ to be done, if only to prove Tony wrong. So maybe he would stay, just long enough for the Avengers to gather themselves together. It would probably not even take a month for them to see the light. Afterwards...

 

_Start acting like the weapon you are. You will yield, like you always do._

 

He briefly closed his eyes. Yes – afterwards, he would have to deal with that.

He glanced up, hesitated for a last second, then carefully reached out and shook Steve's hand. No godly bolt of lightning struck him down for his bold impudence, even though he could not help hunching on himself a bit.

Steve's contact, though short, left Bruce too acutely conscious of his warmth, just like every time he touched someone.

“Alright,” he murmured, throat dry. “Let's give it a try.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think ? I'm really curious to read your reactions with that one. :)


	23. Struggle

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Thor cut off the engine and waited. He was about certain that Loki had been sleeping, but when his lost brother opened his eyes, there were sharp and clear as usual.

“Where are we ?” he asked.

“I do not know,” Thor murmured.

“Then why did you stop ?”

The thunderer clenched his hands on the wheel and just stared straight ahead. Loki followed his gaze.

The road stretched out towards a flat horizon, the faraway mountains a dusty blue against the clearer blue of the sky. The air was so clear it seemed to crackle and pop.

There was an armored giant standing tall a few hundred feet ahead, his feet firmly planted on each side of the asphalt. His sword was stuck right into the white line in the middle of the road. He was perfectly motionless, as though he could have waited here for a thousand years.

Loki let out a bitter scoff.

“Oh, I am truly impressed. Your so-called defection is not even a day old.”

Thor clenched his jaw, then opened the door of the trailer and stepped out.

“Not very wise,” his brother called out ironically. “It will take a few minutes for Mjölnir to reach you here. Unless of course you intend to beg for forgiveness.”

“I will not use Mjölnir,” Thor said loudly, not looking back. “I have no right to wield her anymore.”

He stopped before the giant and looked up. He was awfully conscious that he was wearing no armor whatsoever and that he had left his only weapon miles behind.

The armored warrior looked down. Thor stared back.

“Father,” he whispered.

He knew Odin to be watching beyond the stars. How strange he must look to him, in his dark mortal clothes, standing alone in the desert.

“This is my decision. You can do nothing to change it.”

The giant moaned a metal moan, then suddenly snatched him from the ground. A human would have been torn in half ; Thor only got the wind knocked out of him. He struggled to find his breath as the giant lifted him to eye level, but did not try to break free from his grip.

“I am not the Odinson anymore !” he shouted, and thunder echoed him even though the sky was perfectly clear only two minutes ago. “But I am no mortal either. I am and will be Thor, god of Thunder – and I left Asgard on my own volition ! You have no authority over me.”

The steel hand squeezed his chest, once, stopping _just_ before his ribcage exploded – a friendly warning. Thor let out a choked sound of pain which turned into a halting laugh.

“This is your answer ?” he panted.

The hand squeezed again and Thor could not help scrambling to try and break free, his hands scratching uselessly against the metal. He laughed again between two gaps of pain. “If you are trying to lose your eldest son as well, old man...”

_“In the name of Hel, will you stop this folly ?”_

For a second, Thor thought Odin had bellowed those words at him through the warrior's mouth. But it was not Odin. It was not even the giant.

It was Loki.

Thor twisted his neck at an awkward angle to catch sight of his brother, standing next to the open trailer.

“You dumb, ludicrous _oaf !”_ the trickster yelled at him in absolute fury. “Bow or flee or fight – but do not just _let yourself_ be crushed like – ”

He snapped his mouth shut, but Thor heard anyway.

_Like me._

He gave the trickster a broad grin. “Worry not, brother. I do realize my death would do a great disservice to all.”

He looked back at the motionless helmet of the giant. “Father,” he said, staring into the hollow eyes. “On my honor, this is not a declaration of war.”

Thunder boomed above ; then with a deafening crack, a bolt of lighting struck down the warrior like the white-hot spear of a titan. Thor was thrown to the ground when the empty armor disintegrated in a stunning explosion ; he rolled on himself on almost a hundred feet, then finally came to a halt with a pained laugh, his clothes smoking lightly.

“Oh,” he coughed in a half-groan, half-chuckle. “This would have been easier with Mjölnir indeed.”

When he looked up, Loki was standing straight just before him, tall and taut in his dark clothes, his contracted pupils like pinpoints in eyes almost white-hot with anger.

“Please do not try to kill me before I get up,” Thor mumbled, pulling himself up on one knee.

“You,” Loki spat in a shivering voice, “are _insane.”_

The thunderer chuckled another laugh that said _pot, kettle._ An almost palpable wave of anger issued from Loki in return, like the branding breath of an oven.

“Do you seriously believe this will buy you _any_ indulgence from me ?”

Thor sat on the road with a wince and looked up at him. “Why, no.”

“Yes, you do ! This was never about you coming down into darkness. You are still trying to pull me up to the light. As though we were seated on a pair of scales !”

“No, I assure you,” Thor smiled. “I am well aware that it is impossible. I am falling down for my amusement, and you merely happen to be at the bottom of that pit.”

Loki brutally kicked him across the face, sending him down again. Thor did not try to fight back ; he worked his jaw for a second, waiting for the ringing in his ears to end, then sat up once more and stood, brushing his clothes. His too soft jacket was already ripped, and he sighed. Asgardians usually wore leather for a reason.

Loki was already striding away.

“Brother, the trailer is the other way,” Thor called.

The trickster made no audible answer and kept walking towards the small town in the distance. Thor sighed, gave a last look at the smoldering remains of the armor, then followed him.

 

*

 

“Tony ?”

There was no answer. Steve took a few steps out the elevator, looking around. “Jarvis, is Tony home ?”

 _“I was instructed not to answer, Captain,”_ the AI said with light regret.

Steve sighed. That meant yes, which he guessed was a good thing – but Tony probably intended to stay inside his lab for weeks. No – he would spend the whole month inside, of course. He had made it clear enough that the Avengers deserved no second chance. He had made it clear enough that the Avengers were not even a thing anymore.

Steve rubbed his temples. No, he should not think like that. This was just a fit. Tony would come out in a few days, after he had calmed down and realized he was letting Bruce down again by acting this way.

And Steve could not afford to worry about him right now, anyway.

“Captain ?” Bruce asked in an uncertain voice.

“Yes” Steve said with a smile. “Excuse me.”

He went back inside the elevator and pressed the button to Hulk's floor...

 _...Banner's_ floor. He resisted the urge to thump his forehead against the wall, but only because Bruce was watching. The doors opened again – and Steve's breath was taken away.

The Hulk's immense bed and reinforced furniture were gone.

Tony had thrown it all away in the few hours it had taken for them to come back on the East coast. In their place were normal, impersonal pieces of furniture, ugly and cheap like those in a hotel room. Steve knew Tony did not mean the sudden change as an apology, since he did not think that he even had the right to apologize. That normal-sized stuff was only there because it ought to be – Tony could not have decently took Hulk's things away without something at least remotely functional to replace them ; and of course expensive, luxurious furniture would have looked too much like the billionaire was trying to buy Bruce's forgiveness. Steve could understand, if not approve, his reasoning.

But the result was ghastly, even more unwelcoming and cold than an actual empty room.

“God,” the super-soldier sighed. “I'm sorry, Bruce.”

“It's alright,” Bruce said in a small voice.

He walked inside like he would have walked into a snake pit. Steve could not blame him – he had never seen a room so horribly unpleasant before ; even prison cells were slightly better in his mind, since they were _supposed_ to look off-putting. Steve watched helplessly for a minute, then suddenly realized something.

“Wait,” he said, low. “Doc – I _am_ sorry. For everything. I don't think I said it out loud yet.”

Bruce turned to look at him. As he was, ruffled and barefoot in his loose clothes, in the middle of this appalling room, he should have looked frail.

He looked indestructible.

“Hm,” he said with a wry smile. “What if _I_ apologized to _you ?_ Would you accept it ?”

With all his heart, Steve wanted to answer _yes._ But it was simply impossible.

“No,” he murmured. “I can't. There's nothing to forgive.”

Bruce's smile grew tinged with sadness. “Then I'm afraid we are stuck, Captain.”

“It's only the first day,” Steve reminded him.

Still smiling, Bruce gave a polite, weary nod.

The super-soldier swallowed thickly.

“We're having pizza tonight,” he said. “Will you join us ?”

 _It's a bit too late for that kind of thing, Rogers,_ Tony's voice said loud and clear in his ear.

Steve gritted his teeth and shook it away. He refused to acknowledge just how much, deep inside, he agreed with the billionaire. He had to try, no matter how wrong it felt. And Bruce must feel exactly the same, since he smiled again and said, “With pleasure.”

God, this was awkward. This was more than awkward. Yes, there was no other word to describe it – indeed all of it felt plainly, utterly _wrong._

“I'll see you then,” Steve said with a huge effort. “Try and... get some rest.”

He made a hasty retreat inside the elevator ; and when the doors closed, he gave into his urge and pressed his forehead against the cool metal.

He wondered whether any of them would actually last a full month.

 

*

 

Opening his eyes, the first thing Clint said was, “Told you.”

Nobody was here to hear him, but he really didn't care. He stared at the ceiling for a long time and thought it was absolutely fucking magnificent. A fine piece of art, if anybody asked for his opinion here. The fact that the daylight washed in to splash against the white surface did not hurt, either.

“Welcome home, _durak.”_

Uh. Not so alone after all. He turned his head with an effort and there was Natasha, who smiled wanly as though he was the only good news she had had in days.

Clint could just look at her for a long minute. And he saw all the exhaustion and repressed anxiety she was usually so good at hiding. All the tiny wrinkles and signs of time she would usually conceal by sheer will. Those last three days had evidently not be kind the people on the surface either. Now they were out and back at Stark Tower, obviously – yet Natasha still looked like the worst was to come. Clint wondered if she actually let her emotions show a bit more when he was around. He had once thought he was just particularly good at reading people.

See if he ever believed that again.

He took a deep breath and managed to sit up. His left arm and his legs still felt asleep and heavy, as though they had absorbed the unearthly weight of the concrete. His ribs were thoroughly taped as though the bandages would be the last clothes he would ever wear ; but he was obviously under a local and very powerful anesthetic, since it didn't hurt, although he felt numb and uncomfortable, as if his chest had been clumsily stuffed with cotton.

Natasha watched him straighten up slowly, without making a single move towards him. She was always like that when he woke up from serious injuries – she had not had one kind gesture after he had came round from the mind-control. And somehow, it felt right. Somehow, getting up again after a fall was easier when nobody helped.

He finally leaned back against the pillows with a repressed wince, and looked around. It was his room alright. Nothing had changed, except for the unusual weight of the atmosphere. He looked at Natasha again and was struck once more by the weariness in her eyes.

And then he just couldn't keep himself from asking any longer.

“Where's Banner ?”

She grew a shade paler and for the worst second of his life, he thought – no, he did not even know what he _thought,_ but the next second she spoke, and it was all forgotten, since what she whispered was – “He's here.”

She looked down and added even lower, “In his room, I think.”

Clint closed his eyes, and exhaled a shaky breath, sighing out all his fears, all his anxiety, all the despair and refusal which had crushed him more thoroughly and excruciatingly that all the tons of concrete in the world ever could.

“Good,” he said in an uneven voice. “That's – that's good.”

She did not answer and when he reopened his eyes, she was still looking down. Uneasiness settled back instantly, curling under his ribs as though it had never left.

“Nat,” he rasped. “What's going on ?”

She took a deep breath and told him.

Told him about Tony on the verge of losing his mind from guilt ; told him about Steve on the verge of despondency for the first time. Told him about Fury locked with Banner for a minute that might have been a minute too much.

Clint gaped at her with his mouth open, but eventually all he could manage was, “You let _Fury_ near him ?”

Natasha's eyes briefly turned hard and sharp. “You were going into cardiac arrest.”

Clint said nothing for a long while. He knew he ought to apologize for cheerfully prancing inside a collapsing building, but it wasn't like he hadn't done anything reckless before, although he had probably won some sort of prize with that one. All he could think about was those four days underground, with Bruce. All he could think about was everything Loki had said –

“Loki,” he blurted. “Where _is_ he ?”

Natasha's gaze darkened even more. “We don't know,” she admitted reluctantly. “Thor had him secured during these four days, but now the both of them disappeared. Not a word on the coms, nothing. We can only hope they're back on Asgard.”

Well, wasn't that wonderful.

But Clint realized he was not really worried about Loki – because Loki was someone they could fight ; someone who could unite them, against him. Bruce was a whole different threat – _he_ had the power of tearing them apart. Clint could understand how Tony felt about the Avengers being doomed.

To hell with all that. This wasn't about any of them.

The archer suddenly braced himself on his valid arm and straightened up again with a suppressed scowl. “Nat, give me a hand.”

Anybody else would have told him to lie the fuck back down and get some rest. Natasha silently curled an arm under his shoulders, and helped him up.

 

*

 

_“Access denied.”_

Steve sighed silently and put a hand on the glass wall. He knew it was too soon – even when in regular bad moods, Tony always spent a least a day alone in his workshop. But somehow, waiting for things to get better by themselves seemed like the worst strategy here. As though they were all on the very verge of something absolutely irreparable and something need to be done right _now –_

_And you're gonna be our hero, Rogers ? You're down in the hole just like the rest of us._

Steve gritted his teeth – apparently, he didn't even need to face Tony to argue with him. And he _knew_ he could not trust himself, not after what had happened with Banner. But he had to move forward, no matter how blindly. Because they were all at loss with themselves anyway.

“Tony,” he called out. “Open the door.”

No answer, of course.

 

*

 

Bruce opened one eye and realized he was rolled in a ball on his bed, over the covers and with his clothes on. He slowly uncurled himself, trying to understand what had woken him up.

 _“Doctor Banner,”_ Jarvis repeated softly.

Bruce sat bolt upright, his heart suddenly pounding. It was ridiculous. He had no reason to be this nervous. He just felt like – like something was trying to rip him in half from the inside, but that was stress. He knew stress. He could deal with stress. He could – barely breathe, God, he would be fine, it would be fine.

Jarvis called for him a third time and he buried his face in his hands.

“What is it ?” he mumbled in a shivering voice.

 

*

 

The door suddenly opened on what might be Tony Stark.

Steve could barely recognize him, not because of his worn-out look, but because of the pure hatred which contorted his features. Tony looked like...

Tony looked like _Loki._

And when the billionaire spoke, he sounded like him as well, his voice filled with poison and rage and underlying despair.

 

*

 

_“The agent Barton is here to see you.”_

Bruce's eyes widened, and he looked up.

 

*

 

Tony's eyes were haunted and mad.

“I'll only say it once,” he snarled. _“We – ”_

 

*

 

The lights suddenly went red and an alarm blared above everyone's heads.

 

_“AVENGERS ASSEMBLE.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heh. How very timely.
> 
> I'm still very anxious to know your reactions. Thank you for reading and please, comment ? :)


	24. Teamwork

 

 

 

 

 

Steve and Tony just kept staring at each other, the deafening alarm nothing more than a vague echo in comparison with their inner turmoils. The billionaire looked like he just wanted to punch Steve in the face – as though the super-soldier had been the one triggering the alarm. And Tony was right to be mad at him, in a sense, since his mere presence was pushing the billionaire back against the wall. The alarm kept blaring above, the red light pulsing in an alarming throb, and Steve and Natasha were the only Avengers willing and functional in the entire building. Tony knew it and Steve knew that Tony knew it and Tony knew that he knew.

And they were just staring at each other in a silent struggle.

“Please,” Steve breathed eventually.

A muscle twitched in Tony's face.

“We're only two groundfighters,” the super-soldier went on. “We need Iron Man.”

Something shifted in Tony's gaze, and Steve knew he had gotten it right – if he had said _We need you,_ Tony would have slammed the door in his face. But the super-soldier had called on the hero inside Tony Stark, and no matter how much the billionaire hated himself right now, it was not enough for him to ignore a call for help.

“Fuck you,” he spat.

He shoved Steve out of his way and strode away in the red light without looking back. “Jarvis, Mark VI, now !”

Steve hurried after him, raising a hand to his earpiece. “Widow, Tony's in. I'll meet you on the roof.”

 

*

 

Bruce took a deep breath, then stood up in the red pulsing light. He unbuttoned his shirt calmly and let it fall to the floor, then went to get the door.

Clint was standing in the hallway, barefoot and clothed only with bandages from the waist up. In the throbbing, bloody light, his state looked even more appalling. Bruce smiled at him and just walked past him, leaving him standing motionless before the door.

“You should have stayed in bed,” he said without turning.

He thought Clint would not react at all, but after a second, he heard him call out :

“You don't have to go. You know that, right ?”

The alarm kept blaring over their heads, but Bruce could hear him as clearly as if they were back huddled together underground, with tons of concrete between them and the world.

“Of course I have to,” he said softly.

Clint snorted behind him. Bruce kept walking, his mind blank and weary, his ears ringing with the screaming alarm. He felt so out of it that it took him a good five minutes to realize that the archer was following him.

He eyed Clint warily in the corner of his eye. “What are you doing ?” he murmured.

“I'm coming too.”

Bruce stopped in the middle of the stairs going to the roof. Clint gave him his best shit-eating grin and kept going up. The doctor had to hurry to catch up with him.

“Clint,” he said hurriedly. “Clint, you can barely _walk – ”_

“Then it's lucky I'm the designated driver” the archer said cheerfully.

He opened the doors and got out in the open air before Bruce could answer.

 

*

 

“What is it this time ?” Steve said as Natasha strapped herself in the pilot's seat.

“Skrulls,” she answered. “A single ship over Central Park.”

Steve nodded, only slightly relieved – pure fighting ahead, with no need for strategics, which was a good thing ; but they had all just spent four days with barely any sleep and food. Only the three of them against a whole ship would be –

 _“Fuck no - over my dead body !”_ Tony suddenly hissed on the coms.

Steve raised his head in surprised and at the very same second, the door of the Quinjet opened and Clint hoisted himself inside, grinning at Natasha who just unbuckled herself to let him at the commands. Steve should have kicked him out, like he usually did when an injured teammate tried to fight nonetheless, but he completely forgot about it – because it was not Clint Tony was furious about.

Bruce Banner was here too, barefoot and wearing only the soft pants he had been given in the hospital.

The breeze ruffled his curly hair. He looked thinner and paler than ever in the golden light of the late afternoon, but still Steve sensed that unyielding, powerful will inside him. Banner might bend, but he did not break ; as for now, he was looking calmly at the six-feet-tall mechanized armor marching towards him.

Steve realized he should have called Tony back, but it was too late. The Iron Man stopped with a clanking last step, towering above Bruce.

 _“No,”_ he growled again. _“No fucking way. Get back inside, we'll take care of that.”_

Clint frowned and raised a hand to his earpiece, but Natasha grabbed his wrist to stop him.

They all waited. Bruce just stared back at Tony, and even at this distance, Steve could see how cold his eyes were. When he spoke, he heard him clearly through Tony's coms :

_“Don't tell me what to do.”_

And he changed.

 

*

 

Thor managed to catch up with Loki just before his brother entered the small town. The destruction of the Einherjar had not passed unnoticed, and lots of people were running towards the other way, talking about sudden lightning and loud explosions. Thor was confident Odin would take care of the discarded pieces of armor lying on the road ; but even so, SHIELD would not be long to hear about this.

“We cannot stay here,” he called out. “Loki, we must go back to the trailer.”

He would have gotten the same results had he asked the trailer to go back to Loki. His lost brother supremely ignored him and kept walking. Gritting his teeth, the thunderer grabbed Loki's arm, bringing him to a brutal stop.

“Enough of your childish behavior,” he said. “You cannot outrun me.”

Loki only raised a thin eyebrow. “For now.”

Then his expression changed, and he tilted his head on the side, like a cat focused on its prey. He waited for a heartbeat, then slowly reached out. Thor froze at this unexpected move, unsure of what his brother meant to do – then outright stopped breathing when Loki caressed the bruise on his jaw with light fingers, in a parody of a tender gesture.

“Did I hurt you ?” he breathed with cruel irony.

Thor tried to control himself, but when his brother's nails suddenly dug into the sensitive flesh, he batted his hand away and spun him around to slam him face-first into the nearest wall, twisting his arm behind his back. It was only with a huge effort that he managed to stop before the bones snapped.

“Why,” he growled in a voice shivering with rage, two inches from Loki's ear – “why _must_ you act like this ? Why must you mock everything I am striving for ?”

“Now this is more like you,” Loki panted, fighting for control of his halting voice. “Tell me, what took you so long ?”

“Hey !” someone else called out.

Thor looked up ; a man was watching them with unsure eyes. “Everything alright here ?”

The thunderer breathed through his nose, then forced himself to release Loki. His brother carefully unfolded his arm and rubbed the aching muscles with a slight smirk.

“Yes,” Thor grumbled at the man. “Our apologies.”

He already regretted having lost control of himself.

“ _You_ are the childish one, if you believe there is something to strive for,” Loki murmured, in a voice too low for anyone else but Thor to hear.

The thunderer took another deep breath ; the mortal was still watching them in hesitation, probably wondering whether he ought to call the local authorities. They had already drawn too much attention upon themselves – Thor had to behave. But Loki's voice was like a poison in his ears.

“There is no point in denying it – you discarded your inheritance hoping to find favor with me,” he went on. “How presumptuous. You did nothing to deserve the throne. Now that you lost everything, things are finally back in order. I need not _thank_ you for what ought to be.”

Thor struggled against himself not to react.

“If really you did think I would mollify from this sad, petty, pointless move, then you proved yourself an idiot once more. There is no room for forgiveness between us.”

 _“I_ forgave you,” Thor said under his breath.

The mortal was finally turning away to leave, and the thunderer could finally risk looking at his brother. Loki kept staring ahead with a slight, nasty smile.

“No, you did not,” he murmured. “You have no trust for me.”

“Of course not !” Thor said between his gritted teeth. “You mean to kill me – to kill my friends ! I _want_ to trust you – but I can't.”

“Exactly,” Loki stated calmly. “You _can't.”_

He glanced at Thor in the corner of his eye. “Tell me, then, what is left to hope ?”

The thunderer was taken short by the sudden, sincere question.

Worse, he found he had nothing to answer. And – maybe he was imagining it – but instead of the usual contempt and anger, it was sadness that crept in Loki's smile.

“So you see,” his brother said. “There was no point in your sacrifice.”

His smirk sharpened again and the brief, true emotion which had flickered on his face was gone. “Although I do admit it will be amusing to think of you as an aimless, disowned wanderer – all for nothing.”

These words and the laugh that followed should have called forth Thor's anger once more – and they would have, had he not seen something extraordinary at this very moment. He looked so stunned that Loki could not help shutting up to follow his gaze – and freezing as well.

There was a bar across the street, and in this bar was a television, and on the screen was –

“Banner,” Loki breathed.

His voice was so wan Thor glanced at him in surprise, thinking he was about to faint. The trickster looked utterly aghast, pale and shocked, his eyes glued to the small screen. They could both hear the newscaster's voice sizzling from the speakers – _“fourth Skrull attack on New York... Thor's unexplained absence impeding the fight, but the Hulk...”_

Thor closed his eyes against a sudden stab of burning guilt. _I am sorry, my friends._ He could not help them. He was not an Avenger anymore, and he had to accept the consequences, no matter how unpleasant.

“This is impossible !” Loki hissed.

Somehow, he now sounded furious – so furious that Thor was jarred out of his dark train of thoughts.

“What is ?” he asked.

His brother's indignation was so great he answered without thinking. “He cannot be _helping_ them – they did nothing to deserve it. And – they will use him again _– deny_ him again – how can he be so _stupid ?”_

Thor said nothing.

But the missing pieces of the puzzle were finally adjusting themselves in his head. And now he could see why Loki had saved him ; now he realized the full extent of Bruce Banner's true colors, and how they had shone on his lost brother, if only for a moment.

When he spoke again, it was in a very quiet, very soft voice.

“I do believe there is hope.”

Loki glanced at him again. He looked almost as distressed and confused as when the Hydra base had just collapsed, and they had found themselves alone in the desert, staring at the smoking ruins in the distance.

“What ?” he said in a broken voice.

“You said you could not be trusted,” Thor murmured. “But Banner trusted _you –_ he asked you to save me from his weapon. And you did.”

Loki went pale as death.

“And he saved you,” Thor went on. “Like me, he believed you were worth saving.”

His brother shook his head with surprising fervor. “Of course not, you oaf,” he snapped. “He would have done it for anyone – ”

“But he chose to do it for _you,”_   Thor cut off. “Despite your actions, of which he was well aware. Were his acts pointless, Loki ? Just like mine ?"

Loki's entire body grew taut with rage. “I owe him nothing,” he spat. “And I owe _you_ nothing !”

Thor gave him a rueful look. “I throw my life away for you,” he said quietly, “and still you deem me arrogant. Brother, you lived surrounded in lies for so long that you forgot the sound of sincerity.”

Loki let out an exclamation of contempt and turned away. Thor had never felt so utterly powerless.

“I wish not to humble you,” he insisted with an edge of desperation in his voice. “Why can you not see it ? Have I hurt you so much, that it is wrong for me even to seek your pardon ?”

“You are embarrassing yourself,” Loki spat in a low, venomous voice.

Thor closed his eyes and stopped talking. His brother was a wall of stone-cold hatred, and there was nothing he could do to break it.

He did notice, though, how Loki kept watching the television until the news report was over and Banner had disappeared from the screen.

 

*

 

 _“Alright,”_ Clint's strained voice said on the coms. _“Nothing's moving. I think it's over.”_

Steve could not muster enough strength to answer verbally – he nodded and let his head fall forward, breathing heavily. He had a bad cut on his side, and his legs were so wobbly he had to lean against a big chunk of Skrull spaceship. Not far away, Natasha was outright sitting on the ground, looking utterly exhausted, her pale skin painted with a mix of green and red blood.

The Hulk was breathing heavily between them. After the ship had crashed and burst in flames, he had just stopped moving, staring at the fire in worrying numbness. Steve expected him to revert to Banner any second now, but it wasn't happening.

“Hulk ?” he called.

Tony landed next to them, but did not lift his face-plate. He stood so stiffly it showed even through the exoskeleton of his armor. The Hulk stayed motionless, turning his huge back to them all.

“Hulk,” Natasha said between two heavy breaths.

He flinched and gave a low grumble, but that was all. Steve pushed himself up and spoke as loud as he could over the rumble of the fire in the background. “Hulk, report.”

Clint opened the door of the Quinjet and came down, taking a sharp intake of breath when his broken ribs – _six_ broken ribs, for Christ's sake, how was he even moving – kindly reminded him he should not even be here on the field. He scowled, but straightened up and leaned against the aircraft.

“Hulk,” he called out, still panting from the pain. “Come on, Jade Jaws.”

 _Cupid's_ voice seemed to stir something inside the motionless giant. He hunched on himself as though he was about to transform – but he didn't, he still _didn't –_ and mumbled, “Must go.”

Everyone froze.

“No,” Clint snapped instantly. “Hulk, you don't – ”

“ _Let him go !”_ Tony instantly snarled, turning to him with a threatening whirr. _“If that's what he wants, you have no fucking right – ”_

Hulk – Banner ? How should they call him now ? – shifted and growled, “Don't _want_ to leave ! Must.”

His big hands clenched and unclenched in a helpless gesture. “Broke everything – Tony said.”

 _“No,”_ Tony protested. _“No, not_ you, _that's not what I – ”_

“I _hurt_ you,” Bruce growled.

Because it was Bruce. How could they not see it before, Steve had no idea, because the despair, the powerlessness, the raw suffering in that voice – it was Bruce. Bruce unveiled, bare, _exposed, like a nerve._ Ridiculous as it may sound, it was when he was the Hulk that he was at his most vulnerable – able no more to hide his pain behind a wry smile or a soft façade. His soul was naked, just like his body would be after the green power deserted his veins.

“Smashed you,” he said, lower. “Smashed everyone. Broke everything.”

“It wasn't your fault,” Clint blurted out.

The whole imposing mass of the Hulk shivered, as though he wished only to believe him.

“You were right to smash us,” the archer said in a desperate voice. “It's your job the smash the bad guys. And we were the bad guys back then.”

And Steve realized just how true it was.

“Don't listen to Tony,” Clint went on. “He's an idiot. He thinks we should stop everything.”

The Hulk's head snapped at him. _“NO,”_ he snarled. “Team good. Team is – the _only_ good thing !”

 _“No it's not,”_ Tony groaned. _“What we did to you – ”_

“HULK NO CRYBABY !” Hulk roared.

He took a heavy step towards Tony, whose face-plate just snapped open, which would have been kind of funny in other circumstances.

“Took worse before ! Team made _one_ mistake – so what ? Hulk _IS_ mistake !”

Tony's face fell in an almost unbearable wince of pain. “No – God – you're not – ”

“Shut UP !” Hulk bellowed. “Tony thinks he hurt Hulk – so he wants to stop and let _more_ people hurt ? Tony stupid and team _stupider !”_

Tony was at loss for words, but despair was still carving deep lines on his face. The Hulk was looming over him, seething, and all Steve could think was that it was so good to see him angry again. That was a weird thought, but a green, enraged Banner was infinitely better than a vulnerable, tortured one.

“Hulk leave,” the giant declared, before snarling, “but team better _stay._ Or else.”

He started turning away.

“Don't go,” Natasha said quietly.

The Hulk froze.

“Yeah, don't go, buddy,” Clint said in a strangled voice.

“Please don't go,” Steve added in earnest.

Everyone turned towards Tony, who swallowed thickly. It was his turn now, and everyone knew, without a word, that Hulk would not consider staying without the approval of the full team. Tony looked like someone was physically quartering him – Steve could see how badly, how desperately he wanted to say the words – but his guilt was just too heavy. To him, it felt too bold even to _ask_ for forgiveness. Tony simply could not believe that Banner could forgive them – and in any case, he was not likely to ever forgive himself.

Steve raised a hand to his earpiece. “Iron Man, say it. That's a direct order.”

Tony closed his eyes. For a dreadful moment, everyone just waited.

“Don't go,” he said in a small, shivering voice.

He fell on his knees and grabbed his helmet with both hands, his teeth clenched to hold in the raw, animal cry threatening to burst out of him. Hulk staggered, as though Tony's inward scream of despair had pierced through him as well.

“But,” he said, slow and hesitant. “But. Hulk _smashed.”_

Near the Quinjet, Clint clenched his fists. “Jade Jaws,” he barked, “cut the fucking crap ! You're going to stay here, because _I'm_ not done with you yet ! You hear me ?”

His shout dashed through the dusty air like a bolt of lightning.

And Hulk smiled.

Except it had nothing to do with a Hulk grin – it was Banner's wry, soft, sad smile. And just like a reverse Cheshire Cat, Bruce came back smile-first, suddenly reverting to his human form as though the veneer of his personality seeping out, ever so slightly, had been enough for him to take over. He fell on his knees, then forward in the dust, and curled on himself before completely blacking out.

Natasha closed his eyes with relief, and Steve slid down a few notches against the smooth metal in his back.

“Tony,” he said. “Carry him to the Quinjet.”

Tony looked up with a tear-streaked face. He wanted to refuse that order – he wanted to fly away and never look back, Steve could tell.

Actually, that was the exact reason he had ordered him to take care of Banner.

“Come on,” he urged him softly. “It's pizza night, remember ?”

He straightened up with a wince. “And _you,”_ he said to Clint. “I'll sedate you if I must, but you're not going back on the field for at least a month.”

“Whatever you say, Cap” the archer sighed with a wan smile.

He was in pain and exhausted beyond belief – and only now did it start to show. He had done all this just for Banner, Steve realized. Three hours ago, when the alarm had gone off, the super-soldier had been convinced they were doomed – convinced that Tony was right. That the Avengers could never assemble again.

But now they were all there, even Barton, goddammit, and they had all fought so Banner would stay. And Tony, despite everything, despite what it cost him, was obeying Steve's orders again and lifting up the doctor's limp form in his arms.

Banner looked frailer than ever in his iron grip ; but Steve was beginning to think that maybe, just maybe, this month might not be unfruitful.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, well. What did you think ? :)
> 
> Thank you for reading and commenting, as always !


	25. Settling

 

 

 

 

 

For once, Tony did not go back on his own, but took a ride in the Quinjet like everyone else. He was sitting at the back with his helmet off. Steve had read his file, and he had seen pictures of him during his palladium episode. Tony looked like his blood was running toxic again, his face chalk-pale, his eyes dark and bottomless but focused with a frightening obstinacy on the opposite wall.

Steve unbuckled himself from the copilot seat. Lying on one of the bunks at the very back of the ship, Clint looked like he wanted to get up and replace him, but one stern look from the super-soldier sent him lying down right back with an exaggerated well-behaved look – which failed to conceal completely a wince of pain. Steve knew he was in agony, and Barton's recklessness both impressed and infuriated him. Someday, the archer was going to get himself killed...

...It was only _yesterday_ that he had gone into cardiac arrest.

Steve felt like plunging his face in his hands and never resurfacing, but resisted the urge. He had to trust Clint to know his limits, or he would go mad with worry. Especially right now. Bruce was blissfully still unconscious in the other cot ; at the moment, Tony was the most in need of help.

Steve crossed the cockpit and sat in front of the billionaire, who remained perfectly motionless.

“Tony,” he said in a low voice. “You were good back there.”

The corner of Tony's mouth twitched. “We should've let him go,” he muttered.

Steve opened his mouth but did not speak for a second, his emotions too tangled and intense to fit into words. “Why are you being so hard on yourself ?” he said eventually. “We messed up, but we did it like we did everything else – as a team.”

“Don't play well with others,” Tony mumbled under his breath.

A crooked smirk contorted his mouth and he said a bit louder, “You don't understand.”

“No,” Steve said honestly. “I don't. Help me out here.”

Tony waved a hand in a dejected, non-committal gesture.

“I'm always under the spotlights,” he said. “Always talking to the press. Always the shinier, louder one. I was there before the Avengers were cool. I like to be the center of attention.”

“So far so good,” Steve said.

Tony shot him a look, but went on. “It was the same with Bruce. That first time on the Helicarrier... It was so obvious nobody trusted him. Not even you. Everyone was just being polite because Fury had said so, but underneath they were all waiting for him to explode and I...” He scowled as though he had bitten a lemon. “I said I was a fan of the Hulk, I poked him, I teased him, told him to let off steam – I loved the feeling, you know. Being bold and fearless and adventurous. Being the _one_ strutting superhero, when everyone else was just tiptoeing around him. Being Tony Goddamn Stark. Jesus.” He closed his eyes as though he was holding back tears. “I'm such a selfish, arrogant, egoistic _douchebag._ He was just another way for me to shine.”

“Maybe that's half-true,” Steve said. “But only half-true. I know you _did_ trust him. And he trusted you back. The Hulk wouldn't have saved you otherwise.”

Tony gave a mirthless scoff. “I knew that. I loved that. To be the Hulk's first pal – now _that_ was an achievement. And that's why I couldn't bother to think about _Bruce –_ because each time he Hulked out without anyone firing at him, I got to brag about how it was all thanks to _me_ in the first place. And I crammed him a corner, I locked him down, telling myself the whole time how awesome I was, and how _lucky_ he was to have met me.” He pressed both fists against his forehead.

He waited, his eyes darting around like those of a trapped man looking for an exit, then said, “Cap – I'm not a hero. I'm a reformed arms dealer.”

“Tony, that doesn't mean – ”

“Don't,” Tony said with an irritated gesture. “I've come to terms with _that,_ for crying out loud. What I'm trying to say is – I'm used to have red in my ledger. But what I did to Bruce... that's something else entirely. That's me being self-centered and careless all over again, just when I thought maybe I – ” his voice broke.

He rubbed his face for a second, then said in a halting tone, “I'm not flawless. But _that_ – that's a stain that can never go away.”

At this point, Steve just could not help it anymore. “And you think I don't feel the same ?” he said in a ragged breath. “I'm _supposed_ to be flawless. That's the only thing I have left to define myself.” He huffed a self-depreciating laugh and misquoted, “Take that away, and what am I ?”

“Stupid,” Clint called out from his bunk.

They both startled violently and looked up.

“You both are,” the archer added.

He was lying on his side and staring at them, loosely wrapped under the thin cover, his bandaged shoulders shining white in the dim light, constrating with his black SHIELD shirt. His chest heaved painfully with each breath, but his eyes were sharp and shrewd.

“You didn't listen to a word Hulk said, did you,” he mocked dryly. “You think your whining is going to help getting shit done ? How can you hope Bruce won't bash his head in, when you're wallowing all over the place doing exactly that ?”

Steve felt himself blush a little. Tony, for once in his life, was speechless. Clint rolled on his back and pressed the back of his hand against the bridge of his nose, shielding his eyes from the dim light. “Time to suck it up,” he said. “You're running in circles here.”

“And how come _you're_ coping so well, Barton ?” Tony said in a dark tone.

“I'm not,” Clint said softly. “It's eating me away. Every waking minute.”

A heavy silence fell, until he glared at them from under the back of his hand.

“Care to tell me what good it does ?”

 

The low whirring sigh of the Quinjet powering down told Bruce it was time to open his eyes. He sat up cautiously, wrapping the blanket around his naked body.

His cot suddenly dipped under someone else's weight and he startled a bit. It was Clint ; the shadow of a smile played on his lips while the others unbuckled and stood around them.

“See what fools you're making out of us, doc ?” he said only for Bruce to hear.

The doctor suddenly felt too hot and extremely cold at the same time. “I – I don't – ” he stammered. “I don't know what you mean. I just came round.”

The archer barked a quick laugh. “Right.”

He stood up with a slight wince, but then gave him a grin that completely transformed his stern features – lit up his gray eyes with a fondness still tainted with little crinkles of regret.

“Bruce, I've spent four days trying to keep you awake. I can tell when you're asleep and when you're not.” He winked at him and added, “Superpower.”

Then Natasha was offering to help him getting out of the aircraft and he was loudly protesting that Steve was the old man of the team and this was an outrage to his masculinity and he could totally handle a few broken ribs and didn't Nat remember their Hungarian episode ? – and he was gone. And Bruce just sat there, a bit wide-eyed.

 

Then Steve offered him a gloved hand which he took without thinking, and he was pulled out of his thoughts and of the Quinjet in one go.

 

*

 

Thor drove a few hours more, in the vague hope that it would make it harder for SHIELD to find them, but it was obvious that he was resourceless here. He would have to fight them as well – maybe even confront the Avengers themselves, and the thought made his stomach churn in anticipation. He had honestly no idea how Loki had managed to plan his attack on this desolate land. As an Asgardian, Thor always felt a connection – a connection to his father, through the runes of his hammer ; a connection to Heimdall, through the distant feeling of his ever-watching gaze ; a connection to Yggdrasil, to magic, to things he knew and felt pulsing in his veins along with his blood.

Here on Midgard, he felt utterly alone. Only the rumbling skies answered to the now mute movements of his soul. He did not regret his decision, though.

That was not the entire truth. He regretted Jane and his friends and the lives lost during the latest attack on New York. Lives that he might have saved, had he been there. But he had chosen his brother over the world.

It was obvious he should not expect any gratitude in return. They were both well aware that Thor had hoped to touch him somehow, to show him that he was willing to sacrifice everything he had, for him only. But even that was not enough for Loki. His hatred was too deep-rooted ; it had grown beyond reason, and it seemed like nothing could ever pull it out of him. Thor was stoic, though – he had done the right thing. He had taken a step towards Loki, and no matter what his father or Fury or Steve Rogers might think about it, he knew in his heart that it was the right choice.

It still make him ache like nothing else ever had. Because it had been pointless.

Ever since they had watched the news in that small town, though, his lost brother had stopped pouring venom in his words. In fact, he had stopped talking altogether, once again. The second they had stopped, he had gone to lie down on the narrow bed at the back of the trailer.

After a while, Thor had stopped and left the driver’s seat, and now he watched him sleep in the dark.

The thunderer himself had not slept in days, but he could withstand it – he was not in a mortal form this time. Asgardians could go on for months without any food or rest. Loki, though, kept falling asleep like any human would, a soul-deep fatigue inside him pulling him down until he could not bear the weight of his own body.

Thor watched him sleep, and he was not thinking of Loki's branding hatred, of his nauseating wickedness, of their infuriating arguments that made him feel utterly powerless. He was thinking of blood pooling in steel rivulets. He was thinking of limbs straining against steel restraints. Several times, he caught himself reaching out to close a gaping wound on his brother's pale skin, but they were illusions – Loki had closed his wounds a long time ago, and seemingly sealed all the suffering within in the process.

Thor suddenly thought he should tie him down again. He would chain him with his arms above his head, tight enough so he could not move an inch – then skin him alive, skin him mercilessly, Loki would scream until his voice broke and it would be a bloody, messy business but he would keep going, peel it all until he could turn his very brother inside out ; then he would scrape all the dark, repugnant filth that had amassed there underneath, all these years, filth accumulating until a series of events hastened its growth and made it bloom like mold in moist – he would scrape it all off, Loki would beg him to stop but he would not listen and scrub it all _clean_ until the flesh was raw and bloody and unsullied again. Then he would sew it back, stitch everything up, leave Loki human again, shivering and hollow, wrung out from his darkness, too weak even to cry, and he would take him in his arms and comfort him, _it is over now, it is all over,_ cradle him like a child, like a precious thing, like his brother – he would hold him, and never let go, not until Loki held him back...

Thor winced to shake away these disturbing thoughts, taken aback by the violence of his own fantasy.

Loki was still sleeping, unaware of his brother's waking nightmares. The thunderer wanted to put a hand flat on his back again, so he could feel his ribs shift against his fingers as he breathed in and out. He wanted to tell him he still loved him, despite everything. He wanted to tell him how desperate and lost he felt. He wanted to tell him he had always envied him from a distance, like all big brothers secretly do, Loki the clever one, Loki the Silvertongue, Loki the skilled magician, brilliant and sharp, and infinitely more graceful than him in everything he did. He wanted Loki to listen, without sneering ; he wanted to hear him say eventually that maybe he could understand, and maybe it was time for them to go home.

He did and heard and said none of those things. He only sighed, alone in the dark next to an unforgiving murderer, and plunged his face in his hands.

Maybe he ought to get some sleep after all.

 

*

 

“Where are you going ?”

Bruce gave Clint an owlish look over the collar of the sweater he had slipped on while walking away. He pulled the fabric fully down, ruffling his already disheveled hair even more ; but before he could even stutter something, the archer had grabbed his arm to tug him forward. “The mission's not over. Cap made it clear we have to eat pizza together.”

“I'm not sure I – ”

“Don't even, Bruce.”

_Bruce._

The doctor had no idea why he only realized now that Clint was calling him by his first name. At the same moment, he suddenly felt dizzy, and felt from a distance the archer's hand clenching around his arm to hold him upright.

“Hey,” he said, low. “You okay ?”

Bruce gave a noncommittal shake of his head. He knew had no idea what had happened during the battle, aside from the slight clues he had picked up during the journey back in the Helicarrier. He felt like he was still buried underground only an hour ago ; Fury's calm voice, Tony's broken tone, everything was melting together in a dreadful headache.

“I've just... let myself be carried along until now,” he murmured. “I need to stop – to think. To sort things out.”

“Perfect time for a debrief, then,” Steve said, entering the room along with Tony and Natasha.

They had changed into regular clothes, and Tony was carrying a stack of big square boxes that smelled absolutely delicious. They all looked completely worn out, though, and Bruce remembered Steve mentioning earlier how none of them had slept while trying to get Clint out from the ruins. And now, after only a day of rest, they had carried on with a ruthless fight. It was obvious they were all dead on their feet ; yet they insisted on eating now. Maybe it was a tradition they wanted to maintain.

Or maybe they were doing it for him.

Bruce bit his lip, then softly pulled out of Clint's hold and sat. Without a word, Steve and Tony opened the boxes and took out slices for everyone before passing them around. They started eating messily, ravenously, without any plates or flatware, in a silence thick with tiredness.

A strong feeling of dejà-vu seized Bruce. It was a long time ago – days or weeks or months, he was lost – in a small shop that sold shwarma. He had had hopes, back then. Now, he did not even know how to feel ; and the pizza he chewed slowly had no taste in his mouth. He felt awkward and out of place among them.

“So, want to hear how it was ?” Clint asked.

Bruce froze and looked up warily at him. “How what was ?”

“The battle,” the archer said. “Because you don't remember at all what happened. Do you ? Did I get it wrong again ?”

Tony made a strange movement, as though he had thought of standing bolt upright to punch Clint in the face, but decided against it at the last second. Nobody else reacted, and Bruce realized he had to answer something.

“I don't,” he said, throat dry. “I – um – I get flashes sometimes.”

Steve nodded, then said thoughtfully, “You've been to Central Park before, right ?”

Bruce had expected a lot of questions to follow, but not this one. “...Yes ?”

“Because Hulk found his way without any directions.”

“It's not like that ship was very hard to miss,” Natasha said with an eyebrow raised.

“He still used the layout of the park at his advantage.”

“Quite the tactician, he is,” Clint grinned. “Shame I couldn't be down there. We're awesome together.”

“ _You_ shouldn't even have been in that Quinjet,” Steve scolded.

It was not casual. Not really. Clint and Steve were doing most of the talking, with the discreet help of Natasha now and then, and their liveliness felt forced, if only because they were so obviously tired. Tony looked a little less like he was about to kill himself or burn an orphanage down, but he was not saying anything, and that was enough of a clue as to his current state.

Yet the more they spoke, the less awkward it felt. Mainly because pieces of the informal debrief began to resonate with Bruce's blurred, sparse memories. For the first time in months – for the first time in _years –_ he was getting a rather precise insight on what had happened while he was out. It was simply amazing how it helped him to settle. Even his headache was receding.

Then Tony suddenly sprang on his feet to stride out of the room – and the moment shattered.

Even Clint could not think of something casual to restart the conversation. His right hand formed a fist, then relaxed again, as though his energy had deserted him.

“I think we all need to sleep,” Steve said after a while.

 

*

 

The silence followed Bruce and Clint in the elevator.

“I can make it to my room, you know,” the doctor murmured as the doors closed, in a weak attempt to find himself alone as soon as possible.

Clint did not answer. He could only think of the other time they had found themselves together in an elevator. Bruce's suffering was mercilessly repressed by then ; now it felt like it had overflowed, leaving him somehow blurry at the edges, as though he was a character in a toddler's coloring page. Despair had washed through him for months ; yet there he stood, looking only a bit disheveled, as though he had walked through a gentle breeze instead of a cataclysmic storm.

“Are you still confused ?” Clint said, low.

Bruce's smile was like the frail flame of a match. He didn't say anything.

“You heard us in the Quinjet,” the archer added.

The doctor didn't deny it, but said, “Maybe you did drive me in a corner. But only because I let you. I should have told you everything about the Hulk, from the beginning. Of course you had no way of knowing. It's my own fault.”

He took a deep breath before adding, “And about Loki – ”

“Forget about Loki,” Clint said harshly.

“I let him out,” Bruce murmured. “Don't you, of all people, care about that ?”

Clint opened his mouth to answer a big bold _no,_ then his brain actually caught up and left him speechless. No matter how you looked at it, Bruce had let Loki out with full background knowledge. By doing so, he had undeniably invalidated the entire aftermath of the battle ; he had endangered Earth's relations with outer realms ; and he had personally insulted each one of Loki's victims. It was all true.

Yet...

“Let's put it that way,” he said. “Any knight can go and save the princess. But it takes some balls to rescue the dragon.”

Bruce's face did something strange, as if he was battling several very violent and very contradictory emotions. He looked away with a sharp breath, in a reflexive gesture of withdrawal.

It only exposed him more.

Because now that he was no distracted with the bottomless sorrow in his brown eyes, Clint could fully see how hunched he was on himself. His shoulders sagged slightly under an invisible weight, but his spine was stiff, as though he was used to carry something too heavy for him. His neck formed a strangely frail curve under his ruffled curls. He was deeply unhappy. So tired, and so lonely.

In his mind, Clint walked to Bruce and put his hands on his shoulders, dug his thumbs in his back and pushed, _hard,_ until the doctor slowly straightened up. If only he could do that, his dreadful burden would slide down his back to fall down on the floor. But there was still a risk that it would grow right back – so Clint pictured himself pulling Bruce against him, back to chest. He wondered how his hair would feel between his fingers ; how his body would feel resting against him. A burning need was flaring low inside him, the painful need to touch, to comfort, to untie the innumerable knots in the body and soul of that man...

“It's my floor,” Bruce said abruptly, without turning. “Good night.”

Only when the doors closed again did Clint realize just how much he had let his mind wander.

Tony felt guilty even over apologizing to Bruce, in fear that the doctor would mistake him for a despicable boot-licker. What would he think of a physical attraction driven by guilt only, by the need for redemption ? Bruce deserved better than Clint – deserved better than the Avengers altogether.

Except they were the only thing he had.

And Clint knew that what he felt was beyond just regret, anyway. In fact, he knew it only too well, since these feelings were not exactly new to him – he had a clear memory of a powerful, constricting emotion seizing him during their last moments underground ; and back then, the proximity of death had carved out all the petty doubts he was stumbling upon right now, leaving his thoughts effectively pure and clear.

No, this was not just protectiveness sprouted out of remorse. Of course, Clint felt indebted to him ; he wanted to help him so bad, it hurt ; but the doctor was more than just his victim. He was Bruce Fucking Banner, Savior of Dragons, Hulk Originator and Philanthropist Extraordinaire. He was the kindest and strongest man Clint had ever met. And he had probably missed human contact more than anything else during these months of abuse.

And then all Clint could think of was Loki's hand, resting casually, heavily on Bruce's neck.

He leaned against the wall of the elevator and remembered that he had six broken ribs, that he had gone into cardiac arrest only a day ago and that he had probably no business standing on his feet.

“ _Agent Barton – may I suggest I take you back to your floor ?”_ Jarvis conveniently chimed in.

“Go ahead, you creeper,” Clint mumbled.

He closed his eyes. They still had a long way to go.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading ! Comments are still cherished *squirms behind screen*


	26. Effort

 

 

 

 

 

After the battle, everything and nothing changed.

Bruce knew his debrief had not been complete. For instance, he had no idea why Tony had given up on the idea that the Avengers should disband ; and nobody had told him either what the Hulk had _actually_ said. But it seemed like they could carry on now, and he supposed that was a good thing, since he intended to leave the team functional at the end of the month.

It was obvious they tried to shape their routine around him. Since Bruce had no idea what to do with his free time, he thought he might as well practice the meditation techniques he had collected around the world ; none of them had really helped with the Hulk, but right now, it was his own mind he needed to clear. So he started going down to the gym to use the yoga mats, and quickly realized that somehow, the others' sparring sessions never overlapped with his own attempt at settling in the space he had been given.

He was more awkward and shy than ever ; yet he tried to stay out of his own floor as much as he could. The Hulk-sized stuff had made him feel out of place before, but this sad excuse for furniture just made him feel like even the inanimate objects did not _want_ him here. He had spent a fair share of his life in a cell, but this room was meant to make him feel rejected, and that was a whole new level of inhospitality. He did not resent Tony, though.

He tried not to sleep in his bed either.

Unfortunately, it only meant him running into other members of the team more often than necessary, or pretending to sleep when someone wandered out of his room at four in the morning out of hunger – or something darker. Bruce could usually tell, from the smell of sweat and fear that clang to heroes trying to free themselves from the remains of a too vivid nightmare.

 

Although it had not been made official in any way, Bruce was back in the game when it came to fighting. Every time the Hulk was needed, he changed silently without leaving anyone a chance to argue against it. He was never gone for more than a few hours straight, and Steve and Natasha always made a point in telling him exactly what had happened while he was out, for which he was more than grateful.

He had actually come to look forward to the debriefs that followed the battles. The adrenaline rush and the heated discussions on strategics usually kept him from being the center of attention. Clint was still banned from the field, but he made a point in arguing with Steve through ironic, deadpan one-liners every time the awkwardness threatened to settle in again. Bruce usually ended up with a blanket on his shoulders and a cup of tea in his hands, enjoying the simple company while the others talked with short, quick sentences, that entwined together with his blurry memories in a bigger picture, like the threads of a tapestry.

He knew that this would not last, that this was just a temporary thing, but it was still a hundred times better than any of his solitary meditation sessions in the gym.

Tony was never part of the debriefs, though.

And he never looked at Bruce, nor talked to him. Not once. He avoided him in completely unsubtle ways – walking straight out of a room every time Bruce walked in – and whatever the reason, the doctor could tell Tony wanted him gone, _gone gone gone,_ out of his way and out of his sight. Bruce's bedroom was here to testify, and more than once, Tony ruined the fragile mood by storming out of a room or abruptly shutting up when Bruce was around. Without him to oppose Steve during the debriefs, the actual banter still sounded slightly wrong somehow. It was as though he wanted to make sure that what little peace Bruce could find would always be tainted with stale bitterness.

The end of the month would be a relief for everyone.

Although he had not admitted his decision to himself yet, Bruce had started wondering how it would be to work for SHIELD. Where would he stay ? Would he still be used to fight alongside the Avengers at times ? Would he be requested to work on yet another version of Phase 2 ? Would he have to experiment on himself ?

Those questions made him stop and think that he could not, would not, would _never_ join SHIELD, not in a million years, he was not a soldier, he was not Fury's bitch, he would just have to run again.

Then he remembered that he had nowhere left to run ; and that it had been established that running was not a solution anyway.

And that SHIELD was, in fact, his only option.

 

He kept diving into the same circling thoughts – _I should work for Fury, I can't work for Fury, I must work for Fury, I should work for Fury, I can't work for Fury, I must work for Fury._

And he waited for the month to end.

 

(At night, there was Clint dying next to him, Loki's hands on him, and Tony's armor shattering mid-flight under the Hulk's fist, in a glorious explosion of colors.)

 

*

 

Once day, he walked into the gym – and for the very first time, found someone already there.

Clint Barton.

Bruce wanted to leave right away – but didn't, because he realized Clint was not aware of his presence. That never happened. Clint always saw him, as though those piercing, restless eyes of him were locked on target.

Except today, his eyes were closed.

Puzzled but utterly hypnotized, Bruce just watched. The archer was barefoot, wearing dark jeans and a tank top that failed to conceal the gauze wrapped around his shoulders. He was moving extremely slowly as he breathed in, drew his bow, and aimed towards the target in the other end of the room. His eyelids remained tightly shut, his body taut and focused – keeping the pain away, Bruce realized. Clint's ribs were only starting to heal. But he had been hurt before ; he probably knew himself well enough to practice his archery anyway. Or maybe he simply needed it, like Bruce had come to need the debriefs, no matter how awkward or unsatisfying.

He breathed in again, and released his arrow which dashed forward too swiftly for the eyes to see – Bruce only heard the soft _thud_ when he hit the target.

 

Bull's eye.

 

His own eyes still closed, Clint lowered his bow, exhaling deeply, and smiled to himself with a strange ruefulness. His body was very slightly glistening with sweat – either he had been at it for hours, either his pain was becoming unbearable. He stood there, and Bruce just watched him.

Clint was sturdy but lissom, densely built, muscles working smoothly under the skin. His whole body seemed in harmony with itself, out of grace or sheer confidence, Bruce couldn't decide ; whatever it was, he looked so strong, so sound, so _solid,_ that the doctor felt the painful urge to press against him, to lean against him, to _rest._ He wanted to feel this solidity for himself. To taste it for himself. He wanted the warmth, wanted the weight of a body on him, wanted to be touched, _craved_ it, he wanted Clint, he wanted to be selfish, he wanted to stop thinking, he wanted to take and be taken. His own body was nothing more than a scream of _want,_ so raw and so commanding that he had no choice but run out of the room before Clint could hear it.

 

This was not the Hulk's feelings, he thought, panting against a wall a few floors up. This had _never_ been about the Hulk's feelings. Right after Manhattan, Bruce's subconscious was not yet overgrown ; it was still reflecting his deepest desires ; and the Hulk had then chosen to bond with Clint, of all people.

He thought of Clint's crooked smile in the pale light of the glowsticks. _I'm so glad I fell down here with you – I wouldn't want to be anywhere else._

Bruce let out another pant and screwed his eyes shut.

 _You should work for Fury,_ Loki's voice chimed in his ear.

Away from Tony's rejection. Away from Clint and from all these things he could not have.

I will work for Fury, he thought desperately.

And now he felt Loki's hands in his hair, rubbing into his scalp, like that time when he had first submitted to him and let him comfort him – and the memory was so loathsome, made him feel so helpless and filthy, that it helped him remember he deserved nothing anyway.

So he repeated it to himself until he was convinced it was for the best.

_I will work for Fury._

 

*

 

It was two in the morning, but this time, the door opened without any resistance.

“Hey, Cap,” Tony mumbled when Steve entered the workshop. “I was just looking into your shield.”

He turned away, the grease smudged all over his face hiding the dark rings under his eyes and the paleness of his usually tan skin. “I think I might actually use vibranium into a new alloy for the Mark XI. Absorbing vibrations sounds good – something along the lines of a stealth suit, you know what I mean ?”

“Tony.”

“Not that I don't like it loud and shiny anymore, mind you, but maybe it's not a good idea to always glow in the dark wherever I go – ”

“ _Tony.”_

Tony stopped his rambling and took a deep breath.

“I don't like it when you sound like this,” he said in a low voice. “Like you're scolding me or something.”

“Tony, you've got to stop.”

Steve was himself taken aback at how weary he sounded. Tony shut up, but kept staring at his translucent screens.

“Stop what ?” he said eventually, his tone unreadable.

“Stop punishing yourself. Stop punishing _Bruce_ by punishing yourself.”

Tony stayed absolutely quiet and motionless.

“You won't even talk to him,” Steve murmured.

“I don't think he would _like_ me to talk to him.”

“Of course he would,” the super-soldier said desperately. “Can't you see we're all trying to give ourselves a second chance ?”

“We don't deserve a second chance,” Tony said in a final tone.

He started fiddling with his screens again with brisk gestures, as though he had effectively put an end to that conversation once and for all.

“Not even Bruce ?”

Tony froze again, but this time, his expression faltered. He slowly put down his hands flat on the desk.

“He doesn't blame us,” Steve pleaded. “You might not like it, but that's up to him. He wants to try again – he _does,_ Tony.”

Tony was shaking his head.

“I know you want it too,” Steve said. “You just think you're not worth it. You want to be blamed for something ? I'll do it for you. You're the one who keeps destroying everyday what we built the day before. You're the one who keeps us from moving on because you just can't forgive yourself ! Can't you see that you're just – you're just _wrecking_ it even more ? _Fuck !”_

Steve had never sworn in Tony's face before, and that more than anything else got the billionaire's attention.

“We're all trying to make it better,” the super-soldier said in a lower voice. “For Christ's sake, let it happen.”

Tony closed his eyes, then smiled the wryest smile Steve had ever seen on his face. He sat heavily on a lab stool, throwing away the rag he had been fiddling with.

“I can't,” he mumbled. “I can't face him. God, Steve, I can't even look at him without wanting to run away or kill myself or – ” he waved his hand in vague gesture, then ran it across his face with a shivering breath. “I can't,” he repeated.

“Yeah ?” Steve said, a bit breathless without knowing why. “Then I guess I must take charge for the wimp you are.”

Tony stiffened and gaped at him. Steve stared back sternly.

“Here are your orders. One : stop running away from him as though he had the plague – how do you think it makes him feel ? Uh ? Have you even thought about that ?”

Tony didn't answer, averting his gaze.

“Two,” Steve said, _“Talk_ to him. About the sports, the weather, anything – for Christ's sake, Tony, apologize if you feel like it. I don't give a damn what you say to him. Even if you think he'll despise you for it – just stop communicating through... horrible furniture and hateful silences. You're not making yourself _clear._ Remember the palladium episode ?”

“Low blow,” Tony mumbled, without any real conviction though.

“Yeah, well, you're not the only one who read everyone's files. I'm the leader of this team, and I won't let it fall apart just because you think I should.”

Tony scoffed under his breath, but he still wouldn't look up at Steve.

“Tony,” the super-soldier said softly.

The billionaire trembled, once, then finally met his gaze.

“Fix it,” Steve said. “I hear that's what you do.”

They stared at each other in silence.

“ _Sir, we have a minor alert level 4,"_ Jarvis intervened.

Steve smiled and straightened up.

“Come on, scolding time's over. Let's go fight some villains in the night. I think a bit of old-fashioned heroism is just what you need right now.”

 

*

 

Loki opened his eyes and straightened up a bit in his seat, with the disgruntled look of a cat startled awake. For a second, it looked like he would complain again about having to spent his days on the road in the uncomfortable, noisy trailer, but he eventually decided against it and leaned against the window, falling asleep again in a matter of seconds.

Thor gave him a worried look. The trickster was sleeping more and more as the days passed. Just like a cat indeed, he was now unconscious for almost sixteen hours a day. This was not normal – he should have been recovering and gaining strength, not slipping further down the path of oblivion. Thor knew there was no point in asking him how he felt – Loki would just shut him out – but he was _worried._ Had his brother exhausted his strength beyond repair ? Had Fury's continual tortures irretrievably broken him somehow ? Was he sick ? Was he in pain ?

Thor cared, cared so much that he wanted to rip his heart out to stop feeling this pointless, agonizing worry. Loki was either a sly Silvertongue or a mute tombstone, and the thunderer was powerless against him either way. Just as he was powerless against the rest of the world, not knowing what to do or where to go, able only to run under thunderous skies, knowing that he could not, would not, run forever. He expected the Avengers to come for them both any day now.

He knew he would fight them. But to face their disappointment – their incomprehension, their anger – would be a true ordeal. Thor had never betrayed anyone before ; the terrible feeling of inevitability that weighed on him now, the knowledge that there was no going back – all of it helped him understanding his brother, each minute a little more. He could understand why Loki insisted on the pointlessness of his actions. He could understand why Loki's anger might never cease burning him.

What he could still not understand, though, was why Loki was slowly - but steadily - _wilting._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bad news, everyone ; I have exams ahead and I won't be able to post for a week. Next update is on Friday ; everything will return to normal afterwards. I'm sorry !
> 
> In the meantime, do tell me what you thought of that last chapter, so I have plenty of comments waiting for me to come home. ^^ Once again, a huge, huge thank you for reading - I can never say that enough. :)


	27. Contact

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap, I actually posted it ! Didn't think I would have Internet access _here_ , but there you go :D 
> 
> Updates might still get a bit chaotic until Friday, I apologize in advance. In the meantime, enjoy !

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Bruce.”

Someone was lightly shaking him.

“Hey, Banner,” a voice murmured.

The doctor blinked, then opened his eyes and looked hazily around. The room was completely dark, with only a ray of moonlight rippling through the huge window, painting the carpet with silver. He had settled on the couch again for the night, even though it embarrassed him more and more to sleep in the common areas.

“Bruce, c'mon.”

He propped up on a elbow then blinked again, running a hand through his mess of a hair. A sturdy silhouette was leaning over him, the voice rough and pleasant, hand too warm on his shoulder.

“Clint ?” he breathed.

His head fully cleared and he sat up, already breathing faster. “What's – what's happening ?”

“Calm down,” Clint smiled. “There's no emergency. But you missed it last time, so now you've got to come with me.”

“What – ” Bruce shook his head. He must be still sleepy. “What are you talking about ?”

“You'll see,” the archer said. “It'll be worth it.”

The doctor stayed speechless for a second, then just gave up. “Alright,” he mumbled with a shiver of fatigue. “Whatever you say.”

He got up and wrapped his blanket around his shoulders. Clint smiled again, then put his hand back on his shoulder to guide him out of the room.

This was probably a dream, Bruce thought vaguely. Ever since they had gotten out of the ruins, he dreamed a lot of Clint Barton – and it had gotten even worse after he had caught him training blind in the gym. This dream was nice, he decided. Not too painful since Clint was not being more intimate than he would be in reality ; not too sad since he wasn't dying ; and with a taste of mystery to it all.

“Why – why is it all dark outside ?” he mumbled as they walked through obscure corridors and climbed up shadowy stairs.

“Ah, that's the point,” Clint answered with a grin. “You see, there's been a minor alert something like an hour ago. Jarvis woke me too, but they had no use for a wounded sniper in complete darkness. Which hurt a little, but I guess it sort of makes sense.”

“What was the alert ?”

“The usual level 4,” the archer answered. “Mutant teenager freaking out. This one had electrical powers and he must be already pretty powerful, since the entire city blacked out.”

Bruce almost came to a halt. “The whole _city – ”_

“Yep,” Clint said with delight. “Right now, Tony's working his ass off to set it right, Steve's reassuring the kid while waiting for the X-Men to show up, and Natasha's managing the rest of it.”

He climbed the stairs to the roof, still dragging Bruce along with him, his hand almost burning through the thin fabric of his shirt.

“And us,” he went on, “well, we're going to the roof.”

He went ahead and opened the doors ; the cold night air rushed in, in a powerful gush of wind.

“And we're enjoying the show.”

Bruce's eyes widened and he was struck dumb for a second, as he slowly climbed up the last steps to go out in the open air.

He had never seen such a star-filled night above New York City. The city was plunged in complete darkness, and the sky was blooming above like a giant bird set free, its immense wings studded with twinkling lights. The Milky Way was sailing in all its glory right over Bruce's head, liberated from the usual clutches of the neon lights.

“Now, I'm not a star-gazing kind of guy,” Clint murmured next to him, “but I thought you might like it.”

To Bruce's distant horror, his eyes filled with tears, blurring the magnificent sight – and he understood at the same second that this wasn't a dream at all. He let out a wet, pathetic little laugh, and hunched on himself so Clint wouldn't see him cry. The archer froze, then gingerly reached out and set a warm, warm hand on his shoulder once again.

“Hey,” he murmured.

Bruce shook his head and bit his lip. “I'm sorry,” he said in a trembling voice. “It's – it's just – ”

He shook his head again with another pathetic laugh, feeling a burning tear roll down his cheek. He would have liked to tell Clint about the last time he had seen a sky like this – in the desert, through the window of the Hydra base, just after Loki had – just –

He bit his lips even harder and the pain helped him swallow back the sob that threatened to get out. Clint was not saying a thing, and for a strange second, Bruce was under the impression that the countless stars above them evoked something different, but equally intimate, to him.

“So,” Clint mumbled, releasing Bruce to scratch his head in embarrassment. “Maybe I should've just let you sleep, uh ?”

“No !” Bruce almost shouted.

Clint blinked at him.

The doctor stayed speechless and trembling for another moment. “No,” he managed. “No, no, Clint, this is – ”

This was a night sky he could admire without looking over his shoulder in worry. This was the closest thing he had from peace, in the closest thing he had from home. This was Clint Barton waking him in the middle of the night to go stargazing in New York City, almost as though he had invented the night only for Bruce to see.

“Thank you,” he said in a broken, trembling voice, “thank you so _much.”_

“You're,” Clint said in a dry, awkward voice. “you're welcome.”

Bruce blinked to chase his tears, then looked up again with a small smile. The skies really were wonderful, and their cold magnificence somehow soothed the doctor's clenching heart. He took a deep breath. He felt a bit better.

“Thanks,” he repeated, in a still soft but more normal tone. “I'd missed... things like this.”

Clint did not answer for a long while.

“You know, I'm sorry,” he mumbled eventually.

His voice was low but clear in the darkness. “I doesn't help with anything, but I'm really, really sorry.”

Bruce looked at him, but did not feel the raw pain he had felt towards Steve, the burning, nauseating feeling that they were _wrong,_ that _he_ was the one to blame, that it was not their fault.

“I know,” he said quietly.

He licked his lips, then said for the third time, “Thank you.”

Clint still looked a bit unsure, but he smiled gingerly at him, a smile so tiny and so true that Bruce could not help smiling back. They both looked up at the stars again, and this time it felt more comfortable and quiet.

Bruce could not feel the cold of the night anymore, enveloped as he was in Clint's warmth. And it should have stirred the need for _more_ in the pit of his stomach. But even that closeness was not painful right now. He had been given a small moment of peace, as though that throat-tightening feeling he experienced all the time had been shut down along with the power.

“Wanna go back inside ?” Clint hesitated after a while.

“No, I'm fine,” Bruce smiled. “I could stay for hours.”

It was Clint's turn to smile back, and Bruce could just never get enough of how a mere smile transformed his features entirely, lit them up from the inside, of how his eyes crinkled at the edges, of how this man just radiated warmth and security and confidence and everything Bruce had ever wanted –

“Hey, you know what we need ?” the archer suddenly said.

Bruce blinked. “Um – no ?”

“Be right back.”

And the blink of an eye, he was gone.

The doctor found himself staring at the empty doorframe leading to the stairs. He had an entire sky for him to watch, but he just couldn't tear his gaze from that black hole of a door.

It felt like the air had gotten colder. The minutes were just ticking away and Clint was not coming back.

Of course he wasn't. Why would he ? What was Bruce even doing, indulging himself in this ? There he was, spending time with the man he could never have, building up nonsense SHIELD would rip off from him in less than two weeks. He usually knew better than digging his own grave. He usually knew better than –

“Hey,” Clint said, emerging from the darkness. “Look what I found.”

He unrolled two black, soft things on the hard cement. Bruce was still out of it, and it took him a minute to understand what it was.

“...Sleeping bags ?”

He looked up at Clint, who grinned and sat on the ground. “Yeah. Might as well make ourselves comfortable if we're gonna wait for the sunrise.”

Bruce just stared wide-eyed at him, shivering a bit in the cold air.

 _That is just brilliant,_ Loki mocked him. _Let the monster have a sleepover, why not ? Oh – maybe Fury gave him that idea. Maybe it's Barton's mission to tame you. If you are lucky, he will be the one holding your leash when you are SHIELD's toy dog._

 _Shut up,_ Bruce answered – but his hands trembled a little.

“Bruce ?”

He looked up.

“You don't have to,” Clint said.

He seemed so worried that Bruce briefly wondered what his own expression was like. “It was just an idea, but if you don't – ”

“No, it's fine,” Bruce said firmly.

And before Loki could whisper any more poison in his tired mind, he wriggled inside the sleeping back and zipped it up to his neck. Its fluffy warmth instantly soothed his taut muscles. Clint did the same with great rustling noises, then turned to Bruce with a grin, one of his bare arms still out of the bag while the doctor had snuggled inside, leaving only his head out.

“I guess you did that a lot back in the days.”

“What, sleeping in strange places ?” Bruce murmured. “You bet.”

He shivered, but this time, it was with delighted tiredness at finding himself in such a comfortable position. He actually enjoyed the quiet, dreamy feeling of voluntary insomnia. And Loki had shut up. If he forced himself, he almost managed not to think about Fury at all.

Yes. He should cherish this moment.

“Hey, Bruce,” Clint mumbled.

The doctor's eyes were ajar already.

“What ?” he said, a bit drowsily.

“Why don't you sleep in your room ?”

“Because... you dragged me up here ?”

“I mean, why don't you _usually_ sleep in your room.”

Bruce blinked. “Oh.” He curled up a bit on himself inside the sleeping bag. The words _I don't like my suite_ sounded pathetic even in his head.

“It's...” he said in embarrassment. “Well, you know how my floor is.”

“No I don't,” Clint frowned. “Why ? How is it ?”

Bruce blinked again, a bit more aware.

Of course Clint couldn't know. He had actually never set foot in Bruce's quarters ; only Steve and Tony had. Bruce suddenly breathed better without knowing exactly why.

“Oh,” he repeated. “It's... um – it's a bit hard to explain.”

“You can just show me then.”

The doctor swallowed and Clint slurred, “Well, not now, of course. Couldn't get out of this thing if I tried.”

“Not now,” Bruce agreed with relief.

He closed his eyes for a second.

He must have been falling asleep, because he would have never asked this question had he been fully conscious ; and when he spoke, his own voice sounded like it came from very far away.

“Do you miss him ?”

There was a thick silence.

“Who ?” was the distant answer.

“Hulk,” Bruce mumbled.

He was not closing his eyes out of sleepiness now ; he was trying to hide. When he realized it, he forced himself to reopen them.

Clint was staring at him, of course, but while his gaze was sharp and serious, it wasn't particularly harsh. Just very pensive.

“I guess I do,” he answered slowly, honestly. “I was used to have him with me all the time. He's a good friend, you know.”

Bruce almost laughed at this – the euphemism of the year. “So I gathered,” he said.

Clint stared at him for a long time.

“Bruce ?” he murmured. “Who _is_ the Hulk ?”

And just like that, the doctor was completely awake.

Nobody had ever asked _who_ the Hulk was. _Nobody._ It was always _what._ And _this thing._ And _it._

He bit his lip and closed his eyes, because they were burning again.

“He's – he's me,” he mumbled, small and low. “Minus the... rational part. That's the reason I don't remember anything when I wake up, I guess. He's – I guess you could say he's what simmers underneath my social filters, a psychiatrist's wet dream, something like that...”

He swallowed and went on nervously, “During the past months, he was just... functioning on his own, since I was not really there. And I could feel what he felt – but I couldn't know where it all came from. _He's_ supposed to resonate with _my_ feelings, not the other way around. That's how we're wired. So as soon as I was out for more than a few hours, it fell back in place. Now, we're... I think we're one again.”

Clint just looked at him really weirdly for a moment.

“Wow,” he mumbled eventually. “Wow. Yeah, okay. He's – he's what you're feeling inside.”

Bruce's stomach churned inside the sleeping bag. He hated this formulation, because it was perfectly accurate and it made him more exposed than ever.

But then Clint spoke again, with a smile in his voice. “So actually, I've got nobody to miss. Since you're already here.”

And Bruce sort of forgot to breathe for a moment.

He opened his eyes, and saw the archer smile at him. After a second, Clint extended his arm and patted his shoulder. “Hey, Hulk,” he said sleepily.

“Hey, Clint,” Bruce answered automatically, surprising himself.

The archer gave him a wide, sleepy grin.

His hand started to pull back, and it seemed like he was about to let it slide down on the floor in a sloppy movement. But he stopped at the last second, as though frozen in time, leaving the fingertips on Bruce's sleeping bag in a strange, stiff gesture.

“I'm an idiot,” he murmured, and this time he sounded completely sober.

Bruce would have answered automatically again that no, of course he was not, but he felt as though these fingers were blocking his entire body from functioning normally. As if these fingers, this extended arm, were balancing his entire universe on a plate.

He had no idea what Clint meant. What Clint could possibly mean.

 _Other_ fingers slipped under the sleeping bag, under his clothes, pushing past the waistband of the loose slacks he wore to sleep.

 _What_ could _he possibly mean, Banner ?_ the poisoned honey wondered in his ear. _He does know that you are sullied._

The cold breath was chilling him to the bones. _Or have you omitted to mention this part ?_

Bruce stiffened violently and Clint's fingertips lost contact.

Loki's voice instantly vanished, but the moment was gone. Clint closed his eyes, then his arm disappeared into the sleeping bag, and he rolled on his back to stare at the stars.

“Wow,” he sighed under his breath. “Look at that. We should take the power grid down more often.”

Bruce rolled on his back as well and swallowed the lump in his throat. He felt awful, humiliated and disgusted with himself ; yet, the cold peace of the infinite skies quickly absorbed his dark thoughts once again, in record time. He had found that sleeping under the stars often had this effect, as though his mind itself was morphing into a starry night, a great bottomless obscurity with slight pinpoints of light here and there, dreams strange and scintillating, alien and pure. Today, though, the memory of the desert left him feeling more lonely and in pain than ever.

Clint took a deep breath next to him, and Bruce closed his eyes to focus only on that sound. He preferred the archer's warmth to the beautiful coldness above him.

 

*

 

He was so used to be hunted, to be unsafe, to watch out for himself that he actually woke up before the trained agent.

Clint's face before him first made him blink, then filled him with a deep, quiet joy. The archer was sleeping on his side, almost completely buried in his sleeping bag. Bruce smiled to himself, letting his head fall back to bask in the moment. He had not slept next to someone in longer than he cared to remember ; he did not think it would make him feel so good. He was so grateful to Clint for this night that it hurt not to tell.

He was still leaving for SHIELD in less than two weeks. But nobody could ever take that moment away from him. It was recorded, safely engraved on his mind. It was not much ; but it was something. Of course, he would have liked to –

_Don't go that way, Banner._

He shook it away and realized the chilly air was very slowly getting warmer. He wriggled a little to get an arm out of his sleeping bag, then lightly shook the archer's shoulder.

Clint stayed as motionless as a stone, only sinking a bit deeper in his sleeping bag.

“Clint,” Bruce murmured. “The sun's coming up.”

The archer took a deep breath, but remained deeply asleep. Bruce would have never thought someone like him could sleep so soundly.

And then without thinking, he raised his hand again. Slowly, hesitantly. Like he would have have reached towards a flame.

_What are you doing ?_

That wasn't Loki – that was him.

 _What the_ hell _do you think you're doing, Banner ?_

 _Shut up,_ he answered himself – and even his inner voice managed to sound trembling. _It's not much._

It was like he was possessed anyway ; he could only watch himself, all his good resolutions forgotten.

He extended his arm a bit more and rested his fingers for a second on the bridge of Clint's nose. They followed it up to his left eyebrow, which they traced slowly, slightly, shivering in their effort to stay light. They went down, brushing against his cheek, feeling stubble over the tan skin. They traced his jaw, going down to his chin, the fingertips burning and hypersensitive. They stayed there for a while ; then curled on themselves as though finally fearing what they were doing.

Bruce hadn't had a chance to touch Clint's lips, or his closed eyes, and it was just as well.

He realized he had been holding his breath for almost a minute now, and exhaled deeply. Clint had not batted an eyelid, and the doctor's own eyes briefly closed again in relief, his hand falling down limply on the cement. That had been such a stupid thing to do. Clint could have woken up any time. His heart was pounding against his ribs, and he felt both terrified and ecstatic, as though he was thirteen again and kissing a girl for the first time. As though he had done something much more dangerous and grave than grazing a sleeping man's face.

 _This,_ he thought. _This is what I'll take away with me._

He took a minute to calm down, then called again, “Clint ?”

A faint rustle answered him, and when he opened his eyes again, the archer was looking back at him.

“Morning,” he mumbled.

He twisted on himself like a giant caterpillar to look over his shoulder. “Hey, it's sunrise,” he croaked.

He sat up and Bruce did the same, combing through his unruly hair, shivering in the damp morning. A neon was flickering on a building down below.

“Power's back,” Clint remarked drowsily.

The street sounded subdued and frail, like it usually did on very early mornings. A feeling of post-apocalypse dawn. The sun was rising, a huge, dazzling orange disk, that burned on the retina like the imprint of a god, setting the clouds around in golden fire, painting the sky a clear blue that chased the stars away.

Clint and Bruce stayed there until they had to avert their eyes.

“So,” Clint said after a deep, shameless yawn. “How about we go get some coffee ?”

Bruce closed his eyes, smiling with the sun on his face.

“Yeah,” he said softly, quietly. “Yeah, I'd like that.”

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have some (angsty, but still) fluff, readers. You're going to need it. He. He. He.
> 
> I am still incredibly happy to read each and every one of your comments. Thank you. ^^


	28. Chaos

 

 

 

 

 

Someone gently shook him awake.

When he wasn't on a mission, Clint was the embodiment of morning grumpiness, so he only slid further down his sleeping bag. Why the hell was he doing sleeping outside anyway ?

“Clint,” a soft voice said. “The sun's coming up.”

He stayed completely motionless, but this time it was because he was too puzzled to react. _Bruce ?_ What the hell had he –

– oh. Oh, yes, right, the black-out.

The stars.

His throat tightened at the reminder. He hadn't had a chance to tell the doctor about his hallucination, in the end. Not that there was much to share. It had only been the vague fantasy of a dying man ; he had seen crazier things during other near-death experiences.

But... to see Bruce in the open air, looking at the Milky Way, after what had happened in the ruins... it had looked like a dream come true, and Clint's emotion had been so poignant, so raw, that he could have cried, had Bruce not beat him to it.

He was so lost in that powerful memory that he completely forgot to react and let Bruce know that he was, in fact, awake. He heard the rustling of a sleeping bag – and something brushed his face.

If not for his training, something would have shown. But as it was, he did not move, and his breath remained natural and regular, although he had never been more on the look-out.

Bruce waited for a heartbeat, then slowly caressed his nose up to the arch of his brow, with light, light fingertips, as though Clint had been made of thin glass. The doctor's fingers tip-toed down his cheek, then along his jaw. He was not breathing at all, the archer realized.

Then the fingers were gone in a swift, guilty movement, and Bruce was breathing again – but it was ragged and shivering as though he had ran a long way.

“Clint ?” he called again after a while, in a tired voice.

Clint had been struggling so much not to move that his eyes snapped open too fast ; Bruce would have understood that he had never been asleep, had his own eyes not closed back. When he reopened them gingerly, the archer wished him a vague “Morning”, grateful for the sleepiness that crumpled his face in a nondescript expression.

“Hey, it's sunrise,” he mumbled, then added “Power's back,” because he needed to say something or he would start _blushing_ like a twelve-year-old _._

They sat and watched the sun rise side by side on the roof, huddled in their sleeping bags. Despite the magnificence of it all, Clint could only think of these feather-light fingers tracing his features, as though he was something precious. Something sacred.

Bruce liked him.

Bruce _liked_ – him.

But _how ?_ Why ? Him being into guys was one thing, but – Clint had been nothing but a huge jerk to him from the beginning. Sure, he had tried to redeem himself during the past two weeks, but surely Bruce was clever enough not to fall for a bit of kindness – he had lived with desperation for a decade, or even more, and –

_Desperation._

Clint frowned slightly. That word rang strangely in his mind. Yes – he remembered now, Bruce's lips shaping it in a murmur. _This is not how desperation works._ Alone in an elevator. Bruce had told him he was desperate. Clint had not listened then, but Bruce had confided in him. And he had sought him out from the beginning. In that shwarma restaurant. _I don't think we've been properly introduced – I'm Bruce._ And later on, always apologizing to him. And looking at _him_ specifically before firing the earthquake gun – not in defiance, but to keep something from him, probably, even an outraged glare of hatred. And then – in the base – _go away, Clint,_ it had been an advice, a prayer, _go away, Clint, it's going to crumble, go away, save yourself –_ and – _and –_

 

 _–_ and _Hulk._

 

Hulk, so friendly with him from the beginning, when everyone had expected Tony to be his favorite. Hulk, functioning with him as though they had been made for each other. Hulk, the expression of Bruce's deepest desires.

Clint remembered to breathe and glanced at Bruce.

The doctor had closed his eyes to enjoy the first rays of the sun. His curly hair shifted slightly in the gentle breeze. He looked more disheveled than ever in the soft t-shirt he wore to sleep. He looked frail and vulnerable. He looked dignified and indestructible.

He had suffered for so long and endured it with so much grace.

The archer felt _something_ swell inside him, and the urge he had felt in elevator the other day came back magnified a thousand times. He wanted to tell Bruce just how much of an incredible human being he was. He wanted to hold him close and whisper in his ear promises he would keep. He wanted to make it all _better._

He stretched awkwardly and mumbled, “How about we go get some coffee ?”

For a second here, he felt like he was absolutely hopeless.

But then Bruce chuckled, soft and weary, and mumbled, “Yeah, I'd like that.”

 

*

 

“Loki.”

The trickster let out an inarticulate, muffled sound and turned on himself in the narrow bunk, wrapping the covers around him.

“Loki – brother – please, wake up.”

No reaction.

“Loki – ”

 _“What ?”_ Loki growled.

Thor was suddenly taken back years ago. In the mornings, his brother was always in a horrible mood, except for when he woke up early on his own volition to practice magic ; and he had a tendency to cast nasty spells on anyone who dared depriving him of sleep one way or another. It usually scared everyone away except for Thor, who was cheered to no end by his brother's grumpiness, so unlike the elegant and haughty façade he liked to maintain.

Loki threw back the covers and sat up, promises of cruel and unusual deaths in his gleaming eyes, and for once it felt just like home. Thor could not hold back a thin smile ; his lost brother instantly made the connection, of course, and fell into an even darker – but more subdued – mood.

“What ?” he repeated in a low voice.

Thor hesitated. For a split second, Loki looked like he would snap at him, then his inexplicable fatigue took over and he just pinched the bridge of his nose with a wince. “Speak up, you oaf.”

“Are you ill ?” the thunderer murmured.

Loki glanced up at him in surprise. Thor could feel worry straining his features, and to Hel if his brother mocked him for it – he had to know.

“Your strength has been fading for the past two weeks,” he said. “You cannot even stay awake for an hour straight. Brother, if you are in need of help, please, tell me.”

Loki blinked, then smiled, and leaned against the wall with a visible effort. “What if I told you there was nothing to be done ?”

“I would know you were lying,” Thor growled instantly. “You shall not die to preserve your pride, Loki – I forbid it.”

Loki's smile grew sharper. “Yes, I suppose it would defeat the purpose of your noble sacrifice, would it not ?”

“Will you _stop_ bringing everything back to me ?” Thor exploded. “It is _you_ I worry about ! It is you who matters !”

The trickster blinked in lazy surprise. He was already falling asleep again, Thor realized. He grabbed Loki's upper arms, tugged him close. “Please, Loki. Let me help you, just this once. I am begging you.”

“Begging me,” Loki said with a vague, bitter half-smile.

His head fell forward to rest against Thor's chest. “Well, then,” he mumbled drowsily. “Who am I to ignore the prayers of the Thunder God.”

“Yes,” Thor breathed hurriedly. “Just tell me what to do !”

“What time is it ?” Loki mumbled.

“The night has just fallen.”

“Good.” The trickster waited, then shifted forward and outright pressed himself against Thor.

The demi-god was so stunned that he waited for a second before his arms wrapped around him in an hesitant response. He had never held Loki close in a thousand years – his brother was not one for physical contact, not even as a child. But now, he was resting against him, strangely thin under Thor's strong hands, mumbling something in his chest.

“This.” He was limp, his voice hoarse and muffled. “This is – what I need.” He paused again, his breath already deep and slow. “Just for one night.”

Thor had never felt so awkward in his life – and Loki's behavior frightened him more than he could say. The trickster must really be out of his mind to let himself go like this, and display his vulnerability in such a shameless way.

But already, Loki was heavy in his arms with sleep, and Thor could do nothing but keep him there, confusion and fear mixing in his head ; and he could only tighten his hold, and bury his face in the dark hair, and offer him the useless shield of his embrace, like he would have protected an infant from the monsters in the dark.

 

*

 

Clint had not said anything since they had come down from the roof, but the silence wasn't all that uncomfortable. It allowed Bruce to let the memory of the night spread like a warm haze into him, like the steam of the coffee, filling his lungs and heart and mind.

It had been strange. It had been painful, in a way, because _now_ he was only too aware that he could never have more. It had been terrifying – Bruce had lived through a lot of scary things in his life, but he could not remember ever having been more frightened – and enthralled – than during this split second when his sense of self-preservation had short-circuited and allowed him to touch Clint. He knew that was nothing he deserved, but he hadn't hurt anyone and no one would ever know about it, so maybe, just maybe, it wasn't such a big deal.

He sighed over his coffee. Already, the thrilling memory of that slight contact was growing tainted by other touches – other voices.

_Yield._

Bruce could never hold anything and keep it pure. But by now, he was used to it. With an effort, he pushed it all away and tried to focus on the heady smell of his coffee.

He found it easier to look up at the archer. Clint was studying his own cup with a frown, as though trying to think of something to say but unable to find the words. Bruce waited ; once or twice, it looked like the archer was finally about to say something, but he always fell back into silence eventually.

In the end, it was Jarvis who spoke, his voice ever so elegant and mindful of the early morning. _“The agent Romanov, the captain Rogers and Mr. Stark have returned.”_

Bruce felt his pulse accelerate a little and took a deep breath to control it. He inhaled a last puff of steam, then raised his gaze. “Maybe I should go.”

“Don't be stupid,” Clint said heatedly. “Just because Tony's being an ass doesn't mean you have to – ”

“Clint,” Bruce said, a bit weary. “They're still... they're uncomfortable around me. And they had a rough night. I just lay down on a roof to stare at the stars.”

He turned the mug in his hands. “They deserve a cup of coffee and nothing else on their minds.”

The archer stared at him. “You didn't even drink yours.”

“I'll take it with me,” Bruce smiled. “It's okay, you know.”

“It's not okay.”

Bruce smiled some more and Clint clenched his jaw. “I hate it,” he said with violence.

He looked away, gritting his teeth. “I _hate_ it when you smile like this.”

The doctor was speechless for a second. He did not quite know what to do with that. He could not stop smiling, though – it had become too much of a reflex over the years... and yeah, okay, maybe he saw how it could be unnerving. He looked down so Clint wouldn't have to see him, then softly pushed his chair back and left, taking his mug with him.

He wouldn't have needed to touch it to know that it was already growing cold.

 

*

 

He took the elevator in silence and decided he might as well go to his own floor. He could probably bear the cold rooms for a few hours ; he owed it to Tony and the others. He took a deep breath, then pushed the button and waited, fiddling with his mug.

The doors opened and he got out, still looking down. He hadn't slept much in the end, and he was still tired. Maybe he ought to try his own bed again. Maybe it was secretly the most comfortable bed in the world.

He walked into his room and finally raised his gaze.

 

The mug exploded loudly on the floor, staining it with a large puddle of stale black coffee.

 

The whole room was completely empty.

Everything had vanished. The bed, the rigid nightstand, the stiff chairs and table – they were all gone. The room looked immense and incredibly narrow at the same time. There was absolutely no furniture left whatsoever. Even the wall lights were gone, leaving only naked light-bulbs hanging sadly all over the place. Nothing left.

 

Nothing left, except for Tony Stark standing in the middle.

 

He was there all alone, in a rumpled suit as though he had just left a party, looking like he hadn't slept in three weeks. And his dark, unreadable eyes were fixed on Bruce.

 

*

 

In the darkest hour of the night, a strange feeling awoke him.

Thor opened his eyes and thought he was still dreaming. A golden glow, like the trembling gleam of sunny waters, was reflecting on the walls of the trailer.

He looked down to see what caused it and froze in horror.

Something was coming out of his chest – a dazzling beam of pure, white energy, as though he was in Stark's body with his core gleaming for all to see. The light was pushed out of his heart in regular pulses by the graceful twists of Loki's long fingers. His brother was pressed against his chest, Thor's arms still loosely wrapped around him.

And he was _drinking_ it, drinking Thor's _life_ at the source with an open, thirsty mouth, feasting on his vital energy like a vampire.

Thor let out a roar and shoved Loki back so violently that the trickster crashed through the thin wall of the trailer and rolled outside in the dust. Through the breach, Thor saw him getting up swiftly on his feet, sharp and strong, all drowsiness gone.

The thunderer tried to stand as well, but it felt like his muscles had turned into water. When Loki climbed back into the vehicle with a wide, mad smirk, Thor felt like he had been stung by Gungnir and found the strength to get on his feet. The world spun around him and he stumbled back ; he put a hand on the wall, gathered what was left of his energy and punched his brother across the jaw.

The blow did nothing to wipe out the smile off Loki's face – he merely licked his lips in a quick, feral fashion, and the next second, he was hitting back – smacking the breath out of Thor's lungs and sending him flying through the other wall. The bursting steel cut deeply through Thor's too-light clothing and into his skin ; he landed hard on the unforgiving ground, splattering the dust with his blood. He coughed and groaned with pain, forcing some air back into his lungs, trying to push on his arms, but he could not get up. He was empty, eviscerated somehow, like the shed skin of a snake.

He could not even roll over as Loki approached him slowly, taking his time. In the end, his brother did it for him, sliding a booted foot under his body to spin him on his back.

Chest heaving, Thor could only look up at him. The trickster was outlined with stars against the night skies. His teeth gleamed faintly in the dark as he smirked again that ferocious, insane smile. He crouched next to him in the dust ; a violent shiver ran through the thunderer as he tried to get away.

“Now, now, _brother,”_ Loki mocked. “Remember : you are the one who offered.”

He put a cold hand on his chest – and everything went bright and golden.

Then very dark.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooh, I'd like to know what you thought of that one. ^^ Thank you for reading !


	29. Edge

 

 

 

 

 

“Hi,” Tony said.

Bruce tried to swallow, but his throat was just too dry. The spilled coffee formed a growing puddle that almost reached his bare feet now.

The billionaire scratched his nose. “Jarv told me you weren't in your floor tonight. So I had the furniture removed.” He waved a hand around. “As you can see. Those moving companies can be pretty swift if you throw enough money at them.”

Bruce was speechless.

Tony was looking at the wall, at the ceiling, at the floor – everywhere but at Bruce. Since he had made sure to remove everything of interest, his gaze did not find many spots to land on, though.

“I do things,” he said. “Instead of speaking. I mean – I know, I know, Tony Stark never shuts up, he talks and talks and talks – but what's important, I just – I don't _say_ it. That's a thing. So there.” He encompassed the wide room, then let his hand fall back in a defeated gesture. “That's the best I can do.”

Bruce had to say something now. And it wasn't that hard. The message was pretty clear.

“You want me to leave,” he murmured.

Tony's alarmed eyes snapped at him. “What ? No – it's – agh.” The billionaire looked away. “God, I suck _balls_ at this. Of course you. But it's not. I didn't mean. Shit.”

Bruce blinked, then looked around again at the very empty room. Strangely, it wasn't as unpleasant as the previous state of things. Anything could be built in there after he left, and anything would be better than the cold, hateful room he had...

And then it clicked.

“Anything could be built in there,” he repeated out loud, in a soft, hesitant voice.

When he glanced back at Tony, the billionaire was looking at him again. His dark eyes were like those of a wild, hunted animal.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “That's, uh, that's more like it.”

He swallowed thickly, then shook his head. “I didn't want you to think – ” he paused and obviously forced himself to put some order in what he was trying to say. “When I furnished this place. I didn't want you to think that I was. That I meant. That I was trying to... buy your forgiveness or anything.” He ran a hand over his face. “So I forbade myself to go wild like I did with the others. You should see their floors – it's crazy. Natasha has a goddamn _Olympic_ _swimming pool.”_ He huffed a nervous laugh. “But here I tried – I wanted to...”

His voice died out in defeat. He looked around as though the old furniture was still there. “How could you live there ?” he said in a low tone.

“I couldn't,” Bruce said, and the simple, sincere confession surprised him a little. “I lived in the common areas.”

Tony nodded, licking his lips. “I'm sorry,” he said. “I made it even worse. And God knows it should have been mission impossible. ”

When Bruce opened his mouth, he raised a hand to shut him up. “No – if you're about to forgive me or something...”

Bruce kept silent and Tony huffed another unpleasant laugh. “Thought so. Bruce, I'll only say it once – please don't. I'm not worth it.”

“Clint was right,” the doctor said quietly.

Tony stared at him.

“You're stupid,” Bruce developed with a small, somehow sheepish smile.

The billionaire's eyes widened even more in ghastly horror. “You – ” he huffed. “You heard that.”

“Yes,” Bruce said. “And I'm sorry, too. I'm sorry it took me so long to figure out what was happening with you. I thought you just wanted me to go.”

Tony's face fell. “Bruce, I... ”

“Tony – please, listen to me,” Bruce said. “When we met on the Helicarrier... nobody else would have reacted like you did. And I don't care _why_ you did it. You're the reason I stayed in the first place.”

The billionaire let out a wry laugh. “Wow. So I'm the _original_ reason it all failed.”

“You're the original reason it could still work,” Bruce said softly.

His brain stammered for a second. What the hell was he saying ? He was going to leave. He was going to sell himself to Nick Fury. Why would he tell Tony something like that ?

“I'm not worth it,” Tony repeated stubbornly. “I did nothing but mistakes.”

Bruce couldn't hold back a laugh at this. “You reinvented and improved my shield in only three days with only an early draft to guide you.”

Tony blinked at him. “Yeah, well – _you're_ the one who invented it from scratch,” he said a bit aggressively.

“I used it to fight you. You used it to save me.”

“You used it to protect Loki.”

Bruce flinched and Tony said, “Hey – _no._ That's a _good_ thing.”

“A good thing,” the doctor repeated weakly.

He rubbed his hands on his face and mumbled, “How can you say that with a straight face ?”

“Hey, here's a story for you,” Tony said calmly. “There once was a mass-murderer locked down in a cave. But a good doctor sacrificed himself to set him free.”

Bruce stared at him.

Tony stared back.

The doctor swallowed, throat dry. “It's – it's not the same.”

“It's _exactly_ the same.”

A heavy silence stretched between them.

Tony licked his lips. “Look – ”

But nothing else came out. And Bruce knew exactly what was holding him back – pure, concentrated _guilt._ And in the end, Tony said nothing. Because that wasn't what he did – not when it was important.

Instead, he just reached out to Bruce, in a strange, jerky, stiff gesture, so unlike his smooth public persona, his fingers only half-open, like a seashell ready to close. And he waited, his dark eyes absolutely raw. Bruce knew he was holding the billionaire's fate in his palm at this moment. He could have broken him by batting an eyelid.

And he didn't deserve to be offered this.

And Tony thought _he_ didn't deserve to offer this.

Yet here they were.

 

Bruce stayed on that edge for a minute.

 

He stepped forward and shook Tony's hand.

“Mr. Stark,” he said, barely hearing his own voice over the sudden rush in his ears.

“Dr. Banner,” Tony answered under his breath.

And for a second, it was as though nothing had happened, as though they had been brought back to that first day, and it was the best feeling in the world.

They let go and Bruce smiled at Tony. The billionaire's lips quivered, but he couldn't quite pull out a smile of his own, and he quickly turned away, shoving his hands down his pockets and loudly clearing his throat.

“So,” he said after a long breath out. “Maybe we can start by, uh, – redecorating. Right. Yes.”

He turned on himself, staring at the wall with exaggerated concentration. “What's your favorite color ? I bet it's not green. Purple ? Purple suits you just fine. Or red-and-gold, but that goes without saying, everyone likes that b – ”

“Tony,” Bruce said softly. "I - I don't need redecorating."

Tony turned at him, an eyebrow raised in the universal expression for _are you crazy, this is an empty room and there's only so much minimalism people can stand._

Then his face fell back into that sharp, raw mask he wore only a minute ago. He stared at Bruce for a long minute.

“You're not staying.”

Bruce licked his lips.

“No, Tony. I'm sorry. But if you have... a guest room, it would be nice to spend the rest of the month here.”

“Bruce, I thought – didn't we just – ” Tony stopped like he would have stopped on the edge of a cliff and Bruce felt the same urgent, screaming feeling of immediate danger.

“It's not you,” he quickly said. “It's not any of you. I – I've felt better here than I felt in...”

He remembered Clint's sun-kissed face and the chafing of his stubble under his fingertips.

“...months,” he finished weakly, throat tight.

He shook his head. “But I can't stay,” he said almost desperately. “I'm – I'm going to work for Fury.”

Tony grew so suddenly and thoroughly pale that for a split second, Bruce thought the lights had actually changed.

“Work for Fury,” he murmured after two minutes of a heavy silence.

“Yes,” Bruce said, talking fast. “It's my best option, Tony. I'm too much of a liability – and I just can't keep on running away. It's not working. Since I can't leave the scene, I must – I must place myself under a higher authority. That's the only way.”

“That's complete _crap,”_ Tony growled.

“No,” Bruce answered, soft but firm. “You're saying this now, but...”

“The Hulk worked in a team for months, and he wasn't anybody's – ”

“It's not _about_ him !” Bruce said. _“I'm_ the unreliable one. Because _I_ take the decisions, and I – I shouldn't be allowed to do that any longer. What happened with – with Loki – nothing can stop it from happening again. Not as long as I'll allow myself to...”

“To think,” Tony said in a dead voice.

Bruce swallowed with difficulty. “Well, yes. To think.”

Tony opened his hands, then let them fall back on his sides. “So that's it,” he said sourly. “They won.”

“What ?” Bruce said. “Who – ”

“ _Them,_ Bruce. Everyone. The Avengers. Fury. SHIELD. _Ross._ All the assholes that tried to get you to give up from day one.”

“I'm not giving up,” Bruce said weakly. “I don't have a choice. It's for the best.”

“They did it,” Tony said, stepping closer. “They broke you and now, you don't even trust yourself anymore.”

“I _can't_ trust – ”

“You can't trust _me,_ Banner,” Tony snapped. “Because I _just_ proved I was _selfish_ enough to take advantage of you. God, you shouldn't have shaken my hand. I'll let you down again eventually.”

“I don't think – ”

“No,” Tony cut off. “You don't _think,_ do you ? Not anymore. You said it yourself. Now you're a robot. A weapon. Fury's weapon.”

“They need a weapon,” Bruce said softly.

Tony stared at him.

“Tell me you didn't just say that.”

Bruce looked down with a smile.

“Bruce, you're supposed – you're supposed to be a smart guy,” the billionaire said hoarsely. “You're the smartest man in the world and you're giving up on _thinking for yourself ?_ What is it – what's going on ? What am I missing ? We don't blame you – nobody does – you _know_ that, right ? We want you back. That is – if you want it too. I thought we didn't have the right to even ask – fuck, I _still_ do, but it's not – it's just not working and since you're ridiculously selfless we can just, we could, we might...”

His hurried speech died off. “...start over” he said in a small voice.

Bruce kept looking at the ground. He couldn't bring himself to raise his gaze.

“I do want to stay,” he murmured.

“Good,” Tony said with overwhelming relief. “That's – that's _good._ Look, we can just – ”

“But,” the doctor cut off softly, “I don't always get what I want.”

“ _Bullshit,”_ Tony snarled.

Bruce flinched.

“Fuck, there's something else going on here !” the billionaire barked. “There's something you're not telling me. You still think you're not _worth_ it – why ? If that's internalized guilt again, I'm telling you, I _will_ hit you and maybe _that_ will – ”

“It's not that,” Bruce said with a small smile. “I know you don't want me to feel guilty, alright ? I'm... I'm still working on that. But thank you. For saying it.”

He took a deep breath. “You know what – maybe it'll be easier if I just leave now.”

He turned away towards the door.

“Bruce,” Tony blurted, his voice raw and cracked. “For the life of me, whatever happened that I don't know about – it doesn't matter. Don't let it get to you. Fuck, I know all about weapons, and you're _not_ a _weapon._ You're a human being.”

Bruce already had his hand on the handle, but Tony's words made him smile one last time.

“That,” he said softly, sadly, “is the _original_ problem.”

The door clicked behind him.

 

*

 

“Are you waking up ?”

Thor groaned and tried to lift his head, but it was heavier than Mjölnir in exile. His lips shaped the name of his brother without a sound.

“Yes,” Loki chuckled. “I am here. Worry not, you are alive – it would have been a shame for you to miss all the fun.”

Thor's body flinched, and it was enough to exhaust him. He was tottering between life and death, consciousness and unconsciousness, and he knew that it would not require much for him to fall over that edge. He could feel Loki radiating strength and energy near him, vibrant power crackling like static electricity on the surface of his skin. The coldness embedded in his Jotun core had passed inside Thor, and his lost brother had taken all his warmth in return. _Spring thieves. Neverending winters._ All the legends were coming back to him.

“Ah,” the trickster breathed with a smile. “Did your father never tell you that touching Jotnar was _dangerous ?”_

His fingers brushed his cheek, but this time, it was not even a mock gesture of affection. It was an affirmation of his complete power over Thor. He could touch him, he could have done much worse than just touching him, and the thunderer could do nothing, trapped by the heavy weakness weighing on his helpless body.

“How does it feel ?” Loki said in a low, dangerous voice.

Thor could only breathe a bit more heavily in response, the mere idea of moving already pushing his body to its limits. With an intense effort, he realized he was leaning against the destroyed trailer. His chest felt dreadfully cold, as though a block of ice was pressed against his skin, and he thought again of Tony Stark, lying in the dust with a piece of metal embedded in his heart. His skin had faded to a unhealthy grey.

His brother chuckled again. “Your message to Odin did go through after all. I have been working you over for hours, and he sent absolutely no one to your help.” He grabbed Thor long's hair to pull his head up. “All your dreams came true, _brother”_ he whispered. “You are a destitute wreck, just like you wished for.”

Thor could only shiver in his grip.

“You must be so thrilled,” Loki murmured.

He let go and Thor couldn't keep his head from falling back forward. Loki exhaled, then got up, dusting his clothes.

“Well, now. I believe I do have promises of my own to fulfill.”

He gestured in the air and a spear appeared in his right hand. “Oh, before I go, remind me – what _was_ her name again ?”

Thor's eyes widened.

_When this is over..._

“No,” he managed to utter through his chattering teeth.

_...maybe I'll pay her a visit of my own..._

“NO !”

Loki sniggered again, an open-mouthed, unpleasant little laugh. “What ?” he said in mock incomprehension. “This is _your_ party, _brother.”_

He suddenly leaned forward and his lips brushed Thor's ear. _“So sit back and enjoy.”_

Thor wanted to crush him in the dust, but he could not move, he was trapped in a body of marble, and he could do nothing as Loki straightened up with a wide smirk of wicked glee, and shrouded himself in the gold energy he had stolen from him – and _vanished._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Winter is coming. 
> 
> Thank you for reading ! There are only two or three chapters left now. Please, let the comments rain :)


	30. Monster

Bruce only remembered to breathe when the doors of the elevator opened on the ground floor.

 _Right,_ he thought, breathing through his nose. _Leaving._ He had forgotten himself back there. Tony was right – he shouldn't have shaken his hand. He'd been a hypocrite. He'd been selfish. Now, he must gather his stuff and call Fury. He was absolutely sure a Quinjet was ready for him at all times ; the director would not be long to pick him up.

He tried to put some order in his thoughts, think about what he ought to do first, then let out a bitter little laugh when he remembered he did not actually own any _stuff._ This time, he had not even his inventions to carry away so he could destroy them later. Everything was already gone, courtesy of Tony.

_Bruce, there's something you're not telling me –_

He shook his head briskly. No. No, he would not think about it. He would not _think,_ period. Might as well get used to it anyway. Might as well get started now.

Shit, he did not have a phone either.

He could borrow one. For now, he just had to leave this place. Before he collapsed.

He took a deep breath. He would not make his goodbyes. He would not think of the awkward, but tentatively friendly debriefs. He would certainly not think of Tony shaking his hand. And he would _absolutely_ not think of –

“Bruce ?”

The doctor startled violently and looked up.

 

*

 

Thor rolled on his back with a scowl and knew he would die here. Every move felt like it would be his last.

The skies were cloudy and dark above him. He could barely breathe.

His right hand twitched in the dust. His blue eyes were wide open, staring at the rolling clouds. The temperature was rapidly decreasing.

His cracked lips were moving, as though he was stammering a voiceless prayer. The wind was starting to howl, so the faint sounds could not be heard, not even by himself. But if someone had wandered by, and seen this fallen god lying crucified on the floor ; if that someone had come closer, as close as close could be, and pressed his ear on the shivering lips, maybe he could have heard those words.

_“...whosoever... holds...”_

Thor closed his eyes and a single tear fell on his cheek. _“...this... hammer...”_

The effort was too great. He stopped, breathless, blind under the nightmarish skies.

_“...if... he be... worthy...”_

His right hand twitched again. He felt like his whole body was about to dissolve. Like the slightest breeze could have reduced him to thin powder.

_“...shall receive... the power...”_

He stopped, swallowed, feeling like the entire world was swaying with his throat. _“...the power...”_

He stopped again. He had no right. He had promised.

But...

_Jane._

Another burning tear rolled down his cheek. His lips moved again, and the wind carried the words away.

 

 

“Sorry... I'm sorry... I'm _sorry...”_

 

*

 

When the door burst open, Erik _knew_ – as though he had always known, always waited for him to come back.

“JANE !” he shouted.

In the other room, she raised her head from her papers, eyes wide. Her body had already guessed, and her heart started pounding against her ribs.

“Erik ?” she called.

_“Get the – ”_

A deafening explosion cut him off, instantly followed by the unmistakable crash of human flesh against a hard surface. Jane sprang on her feet and run into the room. “Erik – ”

_“Jane, don't – ”_

Another explosion stuck the words in his throat – and froze Jane in the doorframe.

“Down, Selvig,” said a cool, negligent voice.

The scientist slid down the wall, leaving a trail of blood on the yellow wallpaper. Loki stepped over his body and set the butt of his spear on the floor. He smirked at Jane.

“A true pleasure meeting you at last.”

She was petrified. She had only seen him unconscious in Thor's arms before. This tall man in dark armor was radiating power – but a power more insidious, darker, _sharper,_ unlike Thor's direct, solar warmth.

“Jane,” Selvig choked, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. “Jane, run, runrun _run – ”_

She spun on her feet and ran out of the room, her blood sublimating into pure adrenaline rushing in his veins, her thoughts darting impossibly fast in her screaming mind. There was a shotgun on the first floor, if she just managed to make it to the stairs –

– Loki appeared out of nowhere on the first step and aimed at her with her spear. She threw herself behind the couch just before the beam of light could touch her, rolled on the floor and scrambled to her feet to run –

– right into the arms of the _real_ Loki, who grinned at her and _pinned_ her on his chest with only one arm, choking the breath out of her. Foolishly, she tried to break free, but she already knew that it was completely pointless. He was impossibly strong, his smirk impossibly wide as he looked down at her.

“Now, now,” he said in an indulgent voice.

He brought his other arm around her and the blade of the spear pressed on the back of neck. He leaned forward and spoke in a whisper. “Where are your manners ?”

She braced against him as strongly as she could, shivering like a leaf in the wind, which only made him laugh.

“Where is Thor ?” she growled. “What have you done to him ?”

Loki laughed again, then pulled her closer. “He said you were clever,” he breathed, then tilted his head on the side. “So take a _guess.”_

She felt like she was crumbling in his hands. “You're lying.”

He only smirked.

“You're _lying !”_ she screamed.

“The reputation I have,” Loki mused out loud. “Even here, in the baser realms. Yet I do have a word. As a matter of fact...”

He brushed Jane's cheek with a long finger. “...I am fulfilling a promise at this very moment.”

“Let me _go – ”_

“Oh, but I will.”

He smirked again, wide and insane. “When we are done.”

He pressed her closer.

“I need a few things from you.”

She could feel the stiff leather of his armor through her clothes.

“Will you be so kind ?”

Her eyes widened, her breath caught ; she struggled, raised a hand to slap him, but his own fingers bolted upright and crushed her wrist in an iron grip.

He smiled, tugged her close, brought her face an inch from his.

“I hoped not,” he whispered in wicked delight.

 

*

 

Clint was standing just before the elevator. Bruce and him were alone in the great, immaculate hall of Stark Tower.

Bruce felt breathless with déjà-vu. He had ran away like this once, already. He had met Clint in the hall once, already. His life just summed up to a series of awful echoes against which he was utterly powerless. His very existence was a vicious circle, where even the little things were only dangled before him before going away. He wanted to break it. Even if it meant he had to break himself.

God, he had to leave, he just had to _leave..._

“Going out ?” Clint said, frowning slightly.

Bruce took a deep inspiration. “Yes.”

There was a silence.

“Will you be back at nine ? It's movie night,” the archer said in a much too controlled voice.

And Bruce understood there was no point in hiding.

He sighed deeply and smiled in defeat. “No,” he said. “No. I'm not coming back.”

Silence.

“I'm going to punch Tony,” Clint stated, matter of fact, in the same even tone.

“It's not his fault,” Bruce said with difficulty. “Really. We... we talked things out.”

“Did you ?”

There was an uncomfortable silence. “I've just seen your floor, Bruce," the archer informed him. "There was nothing and a puddle of coffee."

“God,” Bruce mumbled, rubbing his eyes. “It's... it's not what you think.”

Clint stepped forward until he was just close enough to be too close.

“Where will you go anyway ?” he said under his breath.

Bruce smiled wanly. “The Helicarrier.”

The archer did not look shocked like Tony had. His face stayed completely blank, as though he was expecting it.

“Why ?” he asked calmly – but Bruce could feel anger simmering under the surface. He had gotten pretty good at detecting this kind of thing.

If only Clint could just let him go right now, be done with it...

“I have to,” he said in a weary voice.

“This is SHIELD, Bruce. They're not better than Ross.”

Bruce shivered violently. He did not need to hear this name – there were echoes of silver walls and reverberated screams and splatters of blood and sharp, curved blades, pushing through his muscles to carve his nerves _out –_

“I have to,” he almost gasped. “I don't have a choice.”

Clint looked at him with a hurt expression. “Were you already thinking that, back on the roof with me ?”

Bruce felt a pang in his chest, and he did not know whether it was from shame or from the incredible _pain_ those two words had caused him, coming from Clint. _With me._

“Bruce,” the archer repeated fiercely, almost in a growl. “I didn't want to cling, alright ? I tried leaving you alone. See what would come out of it. And I think – no, I know you want to stay. You want to keep trying. So _why ?_  What's pushing you out ?"

Bruce inched back ever so slightly – and Clint caught his arm in a painful grip. “Hell no. I want an answer.”

The doctor shivered again, a shudder of soul-deep fatigue.

“Clint, please – ”

“An _answer,_ Bruce.”

“You already know,” the doctor said under his breath.

He tried to broke free, but even for that, he lacked conviction.

“What do you mean ?”

“I'm too weak,” Bruce forced himself to murmur.

Clint barked out a laugh. _“Weak ?”_ he said incredulously. _“You ?_ Are you out of your mind ?”

“God, Clint !" Bruce tried to break free again, more frantically. “You were there - you _saw.”_

“Saw what ?”

“You know,” Bruce repeated, crumbling inside.

“I don't, so what – ”

 _“Please,_ just let me go – ”

“Just tell me what I _saw,_ and I'll – ”

 _“LOKI !”_ Bruce shouted.

Clint froze. Bruce's face contorted with unbearable shame.

“Loki,” he spat, taking his head in his hands. “And – _me.”_

 

*

 

Loki stepped over Selvig on his way out.

His foot splashed quietly in the pool of blood, leaving red bootprints behind. He was grinding something in his right hand, some kind of small electronic device which ended up falling to pieces on the speckled floor.

He got out of the house and closed his eyes under the thunderous skies, enjoying the cold wind in his black hair and the distant taste of the incoming storm.

One promise down. One to go.

He tightened his grip on the spear, engraved New York in his mind and let the golden energy carry him away.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _What have I done_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> (I'm going to be away for a little while, and I'm not sure I'll have an Internet access this time. So from now on, one chapter a day (won't keep the angst away.) Please, keep commenting, especially now that the end is near. It means so much to me. ^^)


	31. Incoming

 

 

 

 

 

 

 “ _I'm sorry.”_

 

 

 

The words echoed under the nightmarish skies, rapidly fading in the immensity of the desert.

Thor's hand was white, opened with its palm up, like the ghost of a spider. His blue eyes were gaping and feverish, unmoving.

His bloodless lips twitched again. _“Come.”_

 

She hissed through the skies like a cold shooting star. Like a steel comet.

 

His hand clasped around her handle and the ground beneath him cracked and _exploded –_ the blastwave threw the destroyed trailer on its side and lifted a tremendous cloud of dust.

 

He arched back and screamed when the lightning struck, but it was not a cry of pain ; it was the astounded cry that every living being produces with his first breath of life. Sparkles ran through his veins, reviving his deadened flesh, and he was thrown back on his feet as his armor enveloped him. When the red cape swirled around his shoulders, though, he fell on one knee, panting, staring at Mjölnir glistening quietly in his right hand.

He was screaming and writhing inside, his mind a raging storm of chaos, but he shut himself down and got up – and propelled himself towards the clouds.

 

*

“Loki.”

Bruce could only hear his blood pounding in his ears. His words echoed in space.

“And _me.”_

The archer just stared at him.

The doctor felt his stomach churn. God, he was going to be sick. He didn't know what he feared most – Clint's disgust, or his _pity._

He had been through this before. Not _everyone_ treated him like a monster. But those who didn't were actually the worst. Once, back in India, he had worked in a shanty town as a doctor. He hadn't even lasted two weeks before something triggered his transformation. Later on, he had discovered it had been one of Ross's men ; at the time, though, he only knew that there were only ruins left around him, and that he had destroyed forever what little wealth these people had. Their home, their land – all, torn apart.

When he had looked up, there was this Indian women, the mother of five, with a wonderful, white smile, colorful clothes, and a red dot between her eyebrows. _A bindi,_ she had told him only the day before. _Against bad luck._

He could have laughed if he had not been crying.

He had begun to apologize profusely, effusively, tears clearing paths on his dusty face, and she had shut him up with a smile. She had started wiping the filth and the blood off his face with a damp cloth. _It's okay,_ she was saying. _It doesn't matter._ Standing here in the ruins of her home. _It doesn't matter._

And he had felt so frustrated, so _angry_ he had pushed her away and ran before he could change again. He wanted to shout at her. How could she not blame him ? How could people never blame _him ?_ It was either the Hulk's or nobody's fault. _It's okay,_ people would say. With such gentle, selfless, _sickening_ smiles. _It doesn't matter._

 _It is_ not _okay !_ he wanted to scream. _It_ is _my fault ! It_ does _matter !_ He was the one wreaking havoc, because the Hulk was more himself than _himself –_ and it happened for a _reason._ Would the Hulk have wrecked cities, if _Bruce_ hadn't been angry ? Would he have roared at the sky, if _Bruce_ hadn't wanted to scream ? He _was_ angry, he was in pain, he was _desperate –_ but it was always dismissed, either in misplaced blame, either in misplaced forgiveness, nobody ever listened, nobody ever thought for a second about the _reason,_ nobody realized that there was _something_ there, something that couldn't be solved by a handwave or a gunshot...

“Hey,” Clint said.

Bruce snapped out of it. He had lost himself for a second. The archer was still staring at him harshly, coldly.

“Let's play a game,” he said. “Let's pretend I'm a dumb hitman and you're the smartest guy in the world.”

Bruce had never heard him so angry. He was still incredibly in control, though – he would have made a much better Hulk than him.

“Mind explaining how Loki _raping_ you deems you weak ?”

Bruce almost laughed despite the harshness of the word. Disgust _and_ pity, then.

“I let him,” he said. “I allowed it.”

“Oh really,” the archer said, looking unimpressed.

“ _Yes,”_ Bruce growled.

He would not be stripped even of his responsibility. Not this time.

“And don't start pulling the usual crap on me,” he threatened. “I worked as a doctor, alright ? I know every lie you might tell me, and it won't work. It _was_ my fault.”

“Okay,” Clint said without batting an eyelid.

 

Bruce's brain stammered and he just stared at the archer for a second.

 

“...What ?”

“I said okay,” Clint said. “Look, I wasn't there, so I'll just take your word for it. But we still have a problem. You see...”

He licked his lips, looking around in an impatient manner, then stared back at Bruce and said, “well, the problem is – I don't care.”

 _“What ?”_ Bruce repeated.

“Hello, Bruce, mind-control ? Rings a bell ?”

The doctor felt like he was banging his head on a brick wall. First Tony, now Clint.

“God,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Clint, _that_ wasn't your – ”

“Don't you _dare,”_ the archer cut off. “Pot, kettle – two can play this little game, Bruce. But trust me, it doesn't lead anywhere. Whether or not it's your fault” – he opened his arms wide and said like he would have shouted a public announcement, “I officially declare that I. do. not. give. a. _fuck !”_

Bruce opened his mouth, but Clint grabbed his arms and tugged him close. “No,” he said with a crooked grin, “just save it. I'm tired of this shit, Bruce, I've tried respecting your feelings and taking baby steps, but I'm just done with all that crap.”

He shook him a little. “You're trying to be perfect. You're trying to make it all better – that's what we've all tried to do. But we can't fix it. We can't glue it back together. What we can do, however, is _fuck it_ and start anew.”

His grin widened and he looked Bruce in the eye. “You're afraid of making the same mistakes all over again ? Let's _make_ 'em – so you can start worrying about something else for a change. You're not perfect, Bruce. You don't have to be. And neither do I.” He laughed. “I'm not a good guy at all. I'm an insensitive dick.”

He pulled him closer. “Thank God – otherwise I couldn't do this.”

He wrapped a hand behind his neck and kissed him.

Bruce's sound of surprise was muffled immediately – Clint just pressed his mouth on his and stayed there. It was warm, soft, and strangely firm, as though the archer was making a point.

“See ?” he mumbled against his lips. “I'm an _asshole._ Here you are, all vulnerable and shit, and I don't even – ” he cut himself off with another kiss, as though he could not help it, and this time his lips parted slightly against Bruce's, like an invitation, like he wanted _more_ – “I don't even care” he panted.

Bruce gaped at him, completely thunderstruck. Maybe someday his brain was going to reboot, but it was not today.

“Hey, why don't you try it ?” the archer said, still breathless. “C'mon – be a jerk for a day ! _Get what you want,_ for once. What _is_ it that you want ? Hm ?”

He shook him slightly. “Are you angry ? Are you furious at me ? It's okay – knock yourself out. C'mon – punch me ! Have _you_ ever hit anyone, Bruce ? Or did you always let the Hulk fight your battles ?”

Bruce's eyes widened and Clint's grin widened in echo. “Yeah, that's right,” he breathed. “You don't need him. You can let off steam by yourself. So how about that punch ? Uh ? Gonna be careless for a little while ? Gonna hit me like there's no tomorrow ?”

He came closer again. “Or worse – let's be even more of a bastard, shall we ? You think you're not worthy, you think you deserve nothing, you think you're tainted – so what could be _possibly_ worse than kissing me ba – ”

Bruce grabbed his jacket and _shoved_ him forward so violently the words stuck in his throat. They just stayed there for a second, breathing raggedly, mere inches from each other.

The doctor was trembling.

He blinked, burning tears filling his eyes, pain and fury and despair fighting at the back of his head. He waited for Loki's voice to come and laugh at him. But instead, it was a new voice he heard, a sullen, snarky tone.

 

_Fuck it, Bruce._

 

He leaned forward and pressed his lips against his.

 

*

 

Thor landed in the dust, his red cape a strangely bright spot in his gloomy surroundings. Mjölnir threw sparkles in his hand when he saw the house. It stood very still, the windows dark even though the sky was getting more and more clouded.

“Jane ?” he called out.

No answer.

He was not thinking. He _could not_ think. Not now.

“Erik ?” he called, coming closer, starting to run even though he felt, deep inside, that it was useless, that he could have taken his time and it would have changed _nothing_ to what waited for him inside...

_“Jane ?”_

Thunder rumbled in the skies like a warning. He ignored it. The door was ajar, like an invitation. Or a taunt.

Thor did not think – he just walked inside.

 

He should not have.

 

*

 

The kiss was soft and careful and shy and everything Clint wasn't expecting from Bruce – not after the stunt he had pulled at him. Honestly, he was expecting that punch in the face. Or at least a violent kiss, something vengeful, something bitter, something – _angry._

But no. Of course not. Bruce's lips were very light against his, as though he didn't dare. And it was such a huge step for him that the archer was petrified too, completely breathless, utterly amazed at being kissed by this brilliant, impossibly brave, wonderful man.

Clint had slept with guys before. Part of the job, y'see. It hadn't been so bad, and at times he had even enjoyed himself. But it was just for work. Just for fun. He never thought he could feel anything different from friendship or sheer physical desire towards a man.

It was impossible not to _love_ Bruce.

Clint breathed in, then raised a hand to plunge it slowly in Bruce's thick curls, relishing the way they flowed between his fingers. As though he had been given permission, the doctor shivered and pressed a little against him. _It's alright,_ Clint wanted to ramble, _God, of course it's alright, you can have me, you already do, I'm yours, I'm so completely yours, Bruce, Bruce, Bruce, kiss me._ Instead of wasting his time, he wrapped an arm around him and parted his lips. Bruce began kissing deeper – hesitantly at first, then with slightly more assurance. When his tongue darted inside, he even dared cupping Clint's face ; he pressed against him with a deep shiver, kissed him – and it was heartbreaking, the way he did it, ever so careful. He was so scared it would be ripped off from him, so certain it would be taken away ; and it felt as though he was torn between stopping right there not to build false hopes, and continuing while he still could. Clint had never been kissed like this – never felt so thoroughly _loved,_ almost painfully, in a way he certainly didn't deserve.

Warmth overflowed him.

He pressed against Bruce and kissed back, surged against him, and Bruce moaned like he had been wounded and pressed back, invaded his mouth, held onto him like Clint was the only thing he had ever wanted, kissing with some sort of violence now, some kind of desperation, and his cheeks were wet all of a sudden, and he was trembling in Clint's arms, and he convulsed with a sudden sob that forced them to part.

“God,” he said hoarsely, looking terrified, and Clint could literally hear his thoughts, _I ruined it, I ruined it, it's over now –_ “I'm sorry” he said, tears rolling down his cheeks. “I'm so sorry." He choked on another sob. "It's not you – I just – ”

He was pulling back, trying to repress his tears at least until he had broken free, he was too ashamed and hurt and wrecked –

“No,” Clint said urgently, bringing him back in his arms. “Please, Bruce – stay with me ?”

 

And with those words – Bruce just _broke._

 

He fell limp and gripped Clint's shoulders like a drowning man, like a lost child – and _burst into tears,_ pressing his face in his shirt, shaking with violent, choking sobs, crying maybe more harshly than he had in years, in _decades,_ crying out everything he had repressed, his pain, his frustration, his desperation, letting it all rush through him like a devastating storm, and it almost sounded like he was screaming rather than just crying – screaming everything out, screaming for help, screaming at _last._

And Clint held him as close as he could, held him so tight they could have melted together. “Yeah, like that,” he mumbled, “just let go, Bruce, just let it all go, there's nothing to be ashamed of, you're a hero – you're a goddamn _hero..._ Fuck, Bruce, you _saved_ him – he did this to you and you _still_ saved him, that's just – you're just...”

He buried his face in the thick curls, felt them collect the wetness of his own eyes. “I'm sorry” he said in a cracked voice. “We should have been there, _I_ should have been there, I should have put a hundred arrows in his eye...”

He tightened his embrace even more. “God, cry away, Bruce, cry all you want, but just so you know, just so we're clear – when you're done, I'd like to kiss you again. If that's okay with you. And – and go on the roof some more. And cut your hair. And take naps together. And make pancakes in the morning. And tell Fury to go _eat his fucking eyepatch.”_

Bruce convulsed between his arms, and he had no idea whether it had been a sob or a laugh.

“You thought I would let you leave over _Loki,”_ Clint went on. “Seriously, Banner ? Even if it _was_ your fault – and I know it wasn't, I know he forced you like the _bastard_ he is – ”

Bruce convulsed again, and this time it was clearly in protest, but Clint went on, “ – but we can deal with that later. For now, just stop. Just give yourself a break. Just let it all go.”

Bruce was not sobbing anymore, but he was still pressed against Clint like a terrified child. The archer kissed his neck. “I've got you, Bruce” he murmured, and wrapped his arms even more tightly around him. “You're not alone. I've got you.”

 

None of them noticed just how dark it had gotten outside.

 

_*_

 

The man startled and scrambled on his feet. “What the _fuck – ”_

Loki grinned and let the golden lights fade, stepping down into the office. He glanced out the window and realized the skies had gotten _awfully_ dark during the few seconds of his journey.

He threw a quick glance at the desk ; it was a mess of papers and folders. He took one, flipped through it, plans of aircrafts, dissected Chitauri weapons, calculations and readings. A slight chuckle escaped his closed lips. He looked up and grinned at the man who stood petrified, as pale as his complexion would allow.

“Have you called for backup yet ?” Loki asked casually.

The man clenched his fists in defiance. “Yes,” he barked.

“A wise move.”

He took two steps forward – and _stabbed_ him in the chest.

The man opened a wide mouth, but nothing came out except for dark blood.

“Pointless, though,” Loki breathed in his ear.

He pulled the spear out and let him fall on his knees before him.

“I am sorry,” he said amiably. “This _is_ quite the letdown – we both know you deserved a much more refined death. You must be awfully disappointed.”

He glanced at the thunderclouds outside. “But frankly, I am short on time, and I have yet to reach Stark Tower. You were but the first half of a promise I did to myself, you see.”

The man was face down on the floor, his mouth and eyes still gaping open, a sheet of paper near his heart slowly soaking up his blood. Loki's boot poked at his head in annoyance.

“Are you listening ?”

He was not.

The door banged open behind him and a dozen agents in Kevlar burst in, freezing at the sight of both Loki and the corpse at his feet.

_“Sir – ”_

“Oh, yes,” Loki smirked in mock reminding as a golden cloud rose around him. _“Backup.”_

The gunshots fired right through his vanishing silhouette.

 

*

 

Steve raised his head and frowned.

“Wow, it sure is dark all of a sudden.”

Natasha got on her feet and walked to the window.

“There's a storm coming,” she said after a while.

“What ?There was nothing a minute ag...”

When she turned, it was the Black Widow staring at him, and he knew exactly who they both had in mind.

 

 _“Agent Romanov,”_ Jarvis chimed in. _“If I may interrupt, this might raise your interest.”_

The screen embedded in the wall turned itself on, displaying the image of a terrified newscaster whose red hair was swirling and contorting on her head like it had come alive.

“ – _with wind gusts over 100 mph in New York, Seattle, and Phoenix. Meteorologists are speechless – this might be the most humongous super-storm ever recorded in history, nearly threatening the_ entirety _of the American territory. Despite past disagreements, the president has arranged an emergency meeting with Storm of the X-Men, but the mutant claims to be powerless on a scale so – ”_

 

The image blinked, then died off.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys  
> Hey  
> Guess what
> 
> Next chapter is the last chapter.


	32. End

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tony was still standing in Bruce's floor when the lights died off.

He frowned, looked up. Only then did he notice just how dreadfully _dark_ it had gotten outside.

His phone suddenly rang in his pocket. He took it and snatched it open. Unknown number. He answered, glancing out again – his gaze was irresistibly drawn towards the apocalyptic clouds hanging heavy in the sky, like meteors frozen in space.

"Hello ?"

_"Mr. Stark ?"_

He frowned. The voice was familiar. "Who is this ?"

_"Please – I don't think we have much time !"_

Tony kept looking out the window. "Does this by any chance concern the doomsday skies of hell ?"

_"Yes - yes, God, please, you've got to come and pick me up !"_

"Okay, who the hell is this ? How did you get my number ?"

And suddenly – he knew who it was.

 

*

 

Thor landed on the roof of Stark Tower. The light was silver and eerie. Mjölnir was shining faintly under the clouds, sparkling with nervous, twitchy blue lights, running over her surface like spider webs. The thunderer's eyes were just as blue, his pupils pinpoints in the steely irises. His cape billowed around his tall, armored silhouette, and his hair was twisting in the atmosphere heavy and crackling with repressed power.

Thunder cracked and boomed above his head. Underneath, a hundred stories down, Midgardians were holding their breaths.

Like mortals do, when facing the wrath of the gods.

Thor looked around with sharp, merciless eyes. His heart felt still cold. His spine was itching for the thrill of piercing thunder. There was a rain of fire gathering in the clouds, and it was only waiting for his call to fall down.

Mjölnir should have left his hand long ago, with the thoughts that uncoiled in his head like carnivorous vines, paralyzing everything he once was. But the hammer was blood-thirsty as well. It was _singing_ for death and mayhem.

A gleam of gold caught his eyes and he spun round, baring his teeth.

 

*

 

Loki stepped out of the golden lights – and into the dark, gloomy atmosphere of Stark Tower's hall.

Well. With was unfolding above, he would not risk going nearer from the skies.

He turned a corner and stopped. There were two silhouettes locked in a tight embrace in the middle of the great, obscure room.

Bruce Banner and Clint Barton.

They had not seen him. He doubted they ever would, seeing as they had not even noticed that the world was about to end.

He set the butt of his spear on the floor without a sound ; a drip of blood was hanging at the end of the blade. The slight shock made it fall on the smooth marble.

 

*

 

_"You ?"_

"Hi," Tony said – then let his face-plate fall down and blasted Thor in the face.

It was but a slap to the demi-god, but it left him absolutely seething. _"Tony Stark,"_ he roared. "Out of my way, or I will _kill_ you !"

"Hey, calm down, I wouldn't want to hurt – "

There was a whistling of metal – and Mjölnir smacked him down. Tony was rattled down to the bones and tasted blood as he hit the floor, blue data blinking in panic before his eyes.

_"Sir – "_

"S'okay," he spat.

_"Sir, director Fury is calling. He wants your opinion on the current situation."_

"Yeah, I'm sure that's how he phrased it. Tell him I'm busy banging Steve in a broom closet, that should derail him for a while. Where are we with the elevator, is our guest coming ?"

_"Tenth floor, sir – in the meantime, may I suggest you try a different approach ?"_

"I kinda see your point, but I don't think he's open to discussion," Tony said, getting on his feet.

Hell, it was worth a try. "Would you just listen to me for a second ?"

"Step aside," Thor spat. "You know nothing of my pain !"

"Whoa there, Mr. Emo Pants, you almost sounded like your brother for a second."

_"Sir, this might not have been a clever thing to – "_

Thunder struck him down – and completely overloaded the armor's systems instead of recharging them this time.

"HE IS _NOT_ MY BROTHER !" Thor bellowed.

Yeah, shouting was good too, anything as long as he wasn't destroying the city, and Tony was having more important problems right know like the fact that he was about to _fry in his own armor,_ and who could have thought the day would come when he would actually regret Dum-e and his fire extinguisher ?

"Jarvis ?" Tony called. "Jarvis, talk to me !"

Only bits of sizzling vowels in his ear.

"Jarv, have we gone haywire ? And where's that _fucking_ elevator – is it stuck or something ?"

Okay, things were really getting _hot_ in his immediate surroundings. First things first – he grabbed the failsafe on his right hip and pressed the code – short, long, short ; the armor clanked, then fell apart around his body. This was going to take years to reassemble, not to mention repairing the damage on the circuits, but Tony wasn't going to end up cooked like a braised chicken, sweet. He was going to end up electrocuted on his own roof, or flattened by the hammer of an angry thunder god – less sweet.

God, the elevator should be there by now, exactly how long could it take ?

"Wait !" he cried out.

Thor froze, his hammer outlined against the dark silver skies.

"Look," Tony said, wiping out the blood on his jaw. "I know it's going to sound really hard to believe, but actually – "

The doors of the roof slammed open and Tony turned with a pang of hope – that morphed into some weird feeling, a mix of disappointment and relief.

"Steve ?" he panted. "Nat ?"

"Thor, _back off !"_ Steve snarled. "Widow, grab Tony."

Thor was breathing heavily, but the roof had not exploded yet, which was a good thing. Natasha came swiftly next to Tony and heaved him up on his feet, while Steve protected them both behind the vibranium shield.

"Guys," the billionaire mumbled. "Not that I'm not glad to see you or anything, but you could've taken the stairs."

Sadly, nobody listened to him. "Thor, explain yourself !" Steve barked.

"There is nothing to explain," Thor said.

His voice sounded so calm and cold that even Tony forgot about everything else for a second. Thor was fucking terrifying. He could crush them all in a matter of seconds. Like ants under his boot.

Fuck, this goddamn _family._

"I am a hero no more," Thor said. "A prince no more. I am here to avenge Jane Foster and Erik Selvig's deaths."

His cape billowed briskly behind him. There were thunderclouds in his eyes.

"I am here to kill Loki."

 

*

 

Loki raised his hands and weaved the surrounding darkness in a web around the two men, encasing them in a cocoon that disconnected them from their immediate surroundings. It was a very subtle spell, and to become aware of it sufficed to break it. But neither the doctor nor the archer were aware of the outside world, encased as they were in each other's arms.

Loki's steps were soundless as he approached them ; his silhouette but a shadow among the shadows. Barton could have seen him, had he looked up. But his sharp eyes were closed, and he was pressing his face into Banner's neck.

Loki studied them with a distant interest.

Banner was clenching at the archer, shivering slightly but leaning unrestrictedly against him, as though he could trust him for support.

Loki came closer and raised his hand.

 

*

 

The doors of the roof opened again.

_"Thor !"_

Everyone froze – but Thor, _Thor_ went as still as a statue, his eyes as wide as the thunderous skies. Mjölnir fell from his hand and onto the roof.

There was a woman standing in the doorframe, the gush of wind making her hair billow like of a goddess of war. She was panting and covered in blood and her hands were balled into fists.

"Jane," Thor breathed in a wan voice.

Tony went boneless against Natasha.

"Jesus, Foster," he mumbled. "You just _had_ to make a dramatic entrance, didn't you ?"

Everybody completely ignored him once again, and although it pissed him off a little, he could understand them – the God of Thunder striding towards this frail woman to wrap his arms around her with some kind of desperation, as thought she was life poured back in his veins, was quite a breathtaking sight. Thor's eyes were misty and they had gone from hard as steel to confused as fuck ; he just obviously couldn't find it in him to ask questions when confronted with a miracle. It was heartbreaking how he controlled himself not to hurt Jane when all he wanted was to crush her against his chest, while _she_ was doing exactly that, holding him like she was never letting go.

Then she let go – and slapped him across the face.

"You _idiot !"_ she cried, shivering with rage, tears rolling down her cheeks. "What the hell were you thinking ? You freaked out _the whole country !"_

Thor grinned so broadly and fondly that even Tony melted a little, even though he was a bit scorched at the edges.

"Jane," the thunderer murmured. "Is that really you ?"

"Of course," he said, but her dryness was a bit spoiled by her sob and the fact that she pressed against Thor again.

"But – I went into your home," he said, caressing her hair. "There was blood everywhere, and... you were both gone."

"Yes, to the hospital ! Erik was cut on the forehead and bleeding all over the floor. I called 911 – "

"Erik – is he alright ?"

"Yes, of course, he'll just need a few stitches – "

"What did Loki do to you ?" Thor said, grabbing her shoulders to shake her. "Did he hurt you ? Did he threaten you ? My love, are you – "

"I am fine," she said softly, cupping his face. "Thor, I am fine. He didn't do anything to me."

Thor looked at her in both relief and total incomprehension.

"Then – _what_ did he do ?"

"Nothing" Jane repeated nervously.

 

_He pressed her closer._

_"I need a few things from you."_

 

"He was just rambling about."

 

_She could feel the stiff leather of his armor through her clothes._

_"Will you be so kind ?"_

 

"He told me he had killed you, but I knew he was lying."

 

_She raised a hand to slap him, but he caught her wrist._

_"I hoped not," he whispered with a smirk._

_He tilted his head on the side._

_"So," he said. "Shall I go back in the next room and finish Selvig off ? I left him in a quite bloody state. Perhaps it would be better to just put him out of his misery."_

_She stiffened. His smirk widened._

_She waited for a heartbeat, but she knew it was a dead end._

_"What do you want ?" she breathed._

 

"He just wanted to scare me."

 

_"I just want you to fetch me Thor's earpiece," he said. "And please, do not try and pretend you lost it."_

_Her eyes widened. What could he possibly want with that ?_

_He raised his eyebrows. "Dr. Foster."_

_She swallowed, then plunged a hand in her pocket and drew out the earpiece. He smirked, all teeth, and took it from her. "Good girl."_

_He studied the small device for a second. "You are going to contact the Avengers again – and tell them Thor did not betray them after all. That I was the one who forced you to lie, that first time."_

_She gaped at him._

 

"In the end, he didn't even stay that long."

 

_He clicked his tongue in impatience and pressed the blade against her neck. "Now, Dr. Foster."_

_"I didn't," she blurted._

_He raised his eyebrows. "What ?"_

_"I didn't warn the Avengers of his – treason. He told me to do it after he was gone, but I –  didn't."_

_He stared at her for a second, then grinned a wide, appreciative smirk._

_"I see," he chuckled. "Midgardians do have remarkably fierce and sly women. I would be a better match for you than this foolish oaf, doctor."_

_He took the device from her hand and closed his long fingers around it, then stepped back, drawing his spear away from her neck._

_"There was something else I needed," he said._

 

"So you see," she said. "I'm fine. You don't have to worry. I'm fine."

 

_"And – what would that be ?" she breathed._

_"An envelope."_

_She blinked._

_"An envelope ?"_

_"Yes – and someone's current location. Such a smart mind, I am certain you know your way into the secrets of the Midgardian network."_

 

"Everyone's fine."

 

_He told her the name and she glanced away from the screen to gape at him._

_"Ross ? Why would you want to know where to find_ Thaddeus Ross ?"

_"Irrelevant," he said coolly. "Hurry up, please. The weather grew overcast."_

 

Thor wrapped his arms around her again. "I am so relieved," he choked. "So _relieved."_

She hugged him back.

"Me too," she whispered in a quiet voice.

 

But he could not see how wide her eyes were.

 

*

 

 _"Agent Barton,"_ Jarvis chimed in.

It sounded like it came from a great distance – like they were both underwater. Then Bruce's ears came unblocked and he heard Jarvis's voice normally again ; black shadows danced before his eyes for a second, then cleared.

Something strange had just happened here, but he was too tired to figure it out.

 _"Doctor Banner,"_ the AI went on. _"You are both awaited on the roof."_

Clint released Bruce and looked at him in earnest. "You coming ?" he murmured.

The doctor swallowed and nodded, still too overwhelmed to speak. Clint's smile widened, and it was so warm, so solar that Bruce just smiled back.

The archer took his hand and led him into the elevator. The floors went past in complete silence, but it was a good, shared quietness.

Clint's hand was warm in his : and when Bruce's fingers tightened, the archer clenched back.

 

*

 

Thor had fell silent, as the rampart of clouds slowly unraveled in the skies.

He realized that he had been ready to tear Midgard apart in his blind, vengeful fury. He had not changed in the end. He was still impulsive. Selfish. Careless.

And a hopeless fool.

He glanced at Mjölnir, heavy in his hand. He could feel the weight of his red cape. He could feel Odin's power running through his veins like a plague.

Loki had played him all the way, in an expert performance. He had gotten him to go back on his word. Thor was an Odinson again. An Avenger again.

 

He had lost him forever.

 

"Don't worry," someone said.

Thor glanced up at Steve. The super-soldier's blue eyes were calm and comforting.

"Nobody was harmed in the end, Thor," he said. "And it was not your fault. Just one of Loki's nasty tricks."

The thunderer smiled, feeling it strain with weariness.

"Of course," he said. "Thank you, Captain."

He closed his eyes.

For the first time in a thousand years, he felt old.

 

*

 

The skies were clearing.

Loki smirked, although it was strangely bitter.

"Some traitor," he said under his breath.

He wrapped himself in golden lights for the last time, and vanished.

 

*

 

Through the frosted glass of the doors, Bruce could see Tony's golden suit, Steve's blue shield, Natasha's red hair, Thor's silver armor, like a painting of moving colors.

All these _colors_ he had craved for, months ago, all these colors that had made him feel dull and unworthy to be one of them. He took a deep breath, then glanced at Clint, who smiled and tightened his grip on his hand.

Clint's colors were black and dark purple, Bruce remembered. Not that bright, after all.

Maybe even a bit dull, one might say.

He lowered his eyes with a sheepish smile, then closed his eyelids with a small sigh when Clint pressed against his back. The archer's hands settled on his shoulders – and it was as though Bruce had always waited for them to find their place there. Clint's lips brushed his neck when he spoke.

"Ready ?"

The doctor leaned against him. He was strong, and warm, and solid, and everything he had ever wished for. So maybe he could step out on this roof, and face Tony again. Maybe he could stay here for a while.

He knew he would probably feel Loki's hands forever. Had he let him ? Had he allowed it ? This was a doubt that could never go away. But it was not a certainty.

 

So maybe this all was worth a try.

 

"Yeah," he breathed. "Let's do it."

Clint grinned at him, then pressed his lips against his, slow and warm. Bruce greeted him with a heady feeling, still half-convinced that he was dreaming.

He had already lived this scene so many times. So _many_ times, only to wake up alone on a couch or a chair in the living-room. Taking his head between his hands at three in the morning, shivering under his too thin covers, trying to silence his own stubborn wishes.

"I'm here," Clint murmured against his lips, as though he had heard his thoughts.

Bruce nodded, throat tight.

The archer smiled at him, then pulled back and went to open the doors wide – and the sun flowed in, dazzling Bruce who raised a hand to protect himself, the other plunging mechanically in his pocket.

 

He felt something strange there.

 

Rough paper under his fingertips. He stopped and pulled out a crumpled, brown envelope, which was quite heavy. He stared at it in puzzlement, turning it between his fingers. When the hell had that gotten here ?

Still frozen on the threshold, he raised his head, without knowing what he was looking for. He looked down at the brown paper again. He had not gotten mail in over a decade, and certainly not directly in his own pocket.

He frowned, then opened the envelope and turned it above his palm.

Something fluid fell in thin coils in the middle of his hand, like a silver snake. A deadly coldness seized him.

 

Loki's broken chain.

 

A sheet of paper had partly slid out too.

Bruce took it with trembling hands, and unfolded it. There were only three words in the middle of the page, in an elegant, narrow handwriting.

 

　

 _Apologies_  

_and_

_Thanks._

 

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

 

 

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

The radio alarm clock went off.

 

Clint shifted slightly under him, only barely awake. Bruce sighed and settled even more comfortably against his bare chest. He had never felt so warm. The archer's left arm was wrapped around him, keeping him there.

 _" – and on unrelated news in NYC, a veteran of the US Air Force has been found dead in his office,"_ the radio was chiming annoyingly. _"Rumors of murder have yet to be confirmed, but as a man who had no shortage of enemies, the general Thaddeus R – "_

"Mute," Clint mumbled.

He let out a deep sigh, then nuzzled the tousled hair of a very sleepy Bruce. As he pulled him closer, his leg nestled between the doctor's under the covers. Bruce did not tense in the slightest. He knew the archer would never go further, not until he asked him.

And it felt so good, to be close. Maybe they could do more than cuddling tomorrow.

Or maybe next week. Or the month after that.

 

They had all the time in the world.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess Loki's last words will be my final message to you, readers. Apologies, for having been so evil (and a bit of a troll, maybe) ; thanks, for how wonderful, wonderful you were. This has been a strange, long journey, and while I am very sad it is over, I couldn't be happier, because I got to share it with you. ^^  
> Please, do tell me what you thought of the end. It always matters so much. :)
> 
> Until next time, I hope !
> 
>  
> 
> EDIT : Here is a small [companion piece](http://archiveofourown.org/works/937500) for anyone interested.


	33. FANART

An incredible coincidence led me to discover that a few people had posted about this work on Tumblr. I gleefully frolicked along the tag in a festival of squeeing and half-fainting, and then I found this.

 

 

Fanart for [chapter 16](1591936). All credit goes to the awesome [tonystarkmakesyoufeel](http://tonystarkmakesyoufeel.tumblr.com/), whom I cannot thank enough. (Go check his cool Tumblr.) I think this piece of art is nothing short of baffling, but maybe it's just me. In any case I can honestly say it's exactly the atmosphere I was trying to convey. That is the greatest feeling.

 

The fact that I just randomly stumbled upon this continues to astound me. Is there more fanart out there I'm not aware of ? If so, or if you'd like to make fanart of this fic, please send me a comment ! Anything you have, be it sketches or doodles or full-on tapestries woven with your own hair, I'll add them in this chapter.

 

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go feast my eyes on the eerie gorgeousness of this art yet again.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [His True Colors Fanmix](https://archiveofourown.org/works/931761) by [laurie_ky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurie_ky/pseuds/laurie_ky)




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